WIVES   IN  EXILE 


WIVES    IN    EXILE 


BOOKS   BY   THE   SAME   AUTHOR 

The  Gypsy  Christ,  and  Other  Tales 
EccE  Puella 
Vistas,  etc.,  etc. 


WIVES    IN    EXILE 


A  Comedy  in  Romance 


BY 


WILLIAM    SHARP 


LAMSON,   WOLFFE   AND   COMPANY 

BOSTON,   NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 
MDCCCXCVl 


l<g<ni^ 


COPYRIGHT,  1896,  BY 
STONE    AND    KIMBALL 


COPYRIGHT,    1896 
BY  LAMSON,    WOLFFE  AND   COMPANY 


All  rights  reser-ved 


John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


"  No  woman  had  done  it  yet," 

The  Amazing  Marriage. 


WIVES   IN    EXILE 


CHAPTER   I. 

"  ''  I  ^HERE  are  many  who  know  how  to 
X  write  ;  there  are  few  who  know  how 
to  live." 

"  My  dearest  Honor,  is  that  wise  saying 
yours,  or  Wilfrid's,  or  —  or  —  the  Reverend 
James's?" 

"  James,  my  dear  Leonora,  would  not  say 
it  if  he  believed  it.  He  is  a  man  in  whom 
knowledge  is  native." 

"  Knowledge  of  what?  " 

"  Of  his  own  omniscience." 

"And  then?" 

"  Why,  then,  he  is  of  that  class  of  persons 
who  know  so  much  that  they  don't  know  the 
—  the  —  what  shall  I  say  —  the  simplest  of 
insuperable  difficulties ;   how  to  live." 


Wives  in  Exile 

In  the  bright  room  there  was  a  sound  of 
comfort.  It  rnay  liave  come  from  the  fire  of 
sea-coal  that  burned  with  flashes  of  blue  and 
guinea-yellow  flame,  or  from  the  spurtive  his- 
sing of  a  silver  tea-urn  that,  surrounded  by 
small  basins,  jugs,  and  cups  and  saucers, 
seemed  like  some  fantastic  ship  out  of 
Cathay  girt  by  ludicrous  small  craft.  Or  it 
may  have  arisen  from  the  nocturnal  gloom 
and  wet  without,  in  contrast  with  the  quie- 
tude and  opulent  light  and  warmth  within. 
The  rain  no  longer  lashed  horizontally,  but 
dribbled  and  drizzled  with  an  incoherent 
murmur  against  the  panes.  The  unspent 
gale,  however,  rose  and  fell  with  strange  per- 
sistency. It  had  the  moan  of  the  sea  in  its 
dreary  sough,  as  in  the  wet  pine-tree  in  the 
garden  we  may  hear  the  singular  cry  of  the 
hill-wind.  When  it  came  round  the  eastern 
gable  of  the  Royal  Erin  Hotel  it  had  a  pecu- 
liar note  of  desolation.  The  fell  iniquity  of 
its  perversity,  as  Mrs.  Adair,  parodying  Sir 
Thomas  Browne,  described  it,  was,  she 
added,  as  maladroit  an  occurrence  as  though 
it  were  the  fulfilment  of  a  set  purpose  on  the 
part  of  a  male  providence. 

2 


Wives   in   Exile 

Within,  the  insolent  glare  of  the  gas  be- 
trayed the  radical  unheed  of  the  Royal  Erin 
Hotel  to  any  intemperance  of  the  weather. 
The  room  was  not,  perhaps,  a  delight  to 
the  eyes  of  sensitive  persons.  There  was 
so  vast  an  expanse  of  white,  with  curtains 
and  couches  and  chairs  and  spindle-legged 
lounges  in  a  scarlet  so  blatant  that  it  sug- 
gested the  blood  of  martyrs,  shed  here  with 
unstinted  if  judiciously  regulated  prodigality. 
The  crystal  chandelier  was  suspended  by  a 
brazen  abomination,  wrought  with  unspeak- 
able disregard  for  common  seemliness  even. 
Tattered  muslin  fly-guards  hung  limply  upon 
three  of  its  five  branches.  The  effect  was 
that  of  Medusa's  head  in  curls ;  a  Medusa 
who  had  seen  better  days.  On  the  blank 
north  wall  of  white  and  gold  paper  hung  a 
large  colored  print  of  the  baptismal  cere- 
mony of  Queen  Victoria's  first-born.  On  the 
blank  south  wall  were  two  oleographs  ;  the 
conflict  of  the  Shannon  and  the  Chesapeake, 
and  Prince  Albert  assisting  his  royal  spouse 
to  dismount  from  a  shaggy  pony  that  had 
come  to  a  halt  in  a  pre-eminently  picturesque 
Highland  glen.  The  east  and  west  walls 
3 


Wives  in  Exile 

were  better.  Midway  in  the  latter  was  the 
door,  oaken  to  the  eye,  if  polishable  deal  to 
the  contractor.  To  the  left  of  it  was  a 
mirror,  round  which  a  cloud  of  pink  gauze 
was  tufted  in  exactly  regular  clumps.  It  was 
the  most  delightful  thing  in  the  room,  for  it 
reflected  the  bright  hearth  and  ruddy  flames 
opposite,  two  large  armchairs  covered  with 
white  dimity,  and  in  these  chairs  Mrs.  Leo- 
nora Wester  and  Mrs.  Honor  Adair. 

To  have  a  bright  fire  and  an  adjacent 
mirror ;  that,  certainly,  is  to  have  opened  at 
least  the  first  seal  of  enjoyment.  The  second 
is  already  broken  when  one  can  look  into  the 
mirror  and  see  oneself  at  one's  best,  touched 
with  that  remote  grace  which  is  so  seduc- 
tively obvious  in  pools  and  shallows  and 
mirrors,  and  so  apt  to  prove  evasive  in  the 
hand-glass.  Yet  another  seal  is  broken  when 
we  can  view,  beside  Ideala,  the  form  and 
features,  and  answering  eyes  of  one  who  is 
as  blithe  to  the  mind  as  she,  or  he,  is  dear  to 
the  heart. 

This  third  seal  was  denied  to  Mrs.  Adair. 
From  her  position  she  could  obtain  no  more 
than  a  glimpse  of  the  escritoire,  that  stood 
4 


Wives  in   Exile 

beyond  her  friend  and  the  fireplace,  and  of 
the  burnished  copper-gold  hair  that  was 
pressed  against  the  ridge  of  the  arm-chair. 
Mrs.  Wester  was  more  fortunate.  She  enjoyed 
the  vision  of  her  own  fair  beauty  and  the 
dark  loveliness  of  Honor  Adair.  The  con- 
trast was  admirable.  She  delighted  in  it 
with  an  impersonal  joy.  She,  as  she  saw 
herself,  was  so  wrought  of  white  and  gold 
that  she  was  an  August  morning,  where  wind 
and  sunshine  have  taken  possession  of  the 
dew-wet  wheat.  Her  eyes  were  of  that  deep 
blue  which  in  emotion  becomes  violet.  The 
white  clove  she  wore  at  her  breast  seemed 
as  though  it  had  fallen  from  the  brown  and 
gold  tangle  of  her  hair,  which  was  all  of 
waving  lines  and  sudden  rebellious  sprays. 
So  cream  white  was  her  complexion  that 
her  lips  would  have  gleamed  too  redly  but 
that  they  were  so  delicate  in  form  and  of  so 
dainty  a  curve.  Looking  from  herself  to  her 
companion  she  noted  how  dark  was  the  beau- 
tiful hair  that  clustered  around  Honor's  head, 
—  set  upon  a  high  neck  with  a  poise  as  of  a 
sea-wave ;  it  too  had  lines  of  gold  in  it,  as 
though  a  sun-ray  had  been  meshed  therein 

5 


Wives  in  Exile 

and  never  yet  escaped,  if  escape  it  would. 
Yes,  she  admitted,  Honor  was  the  more 
lovely,  at  least  to  her  taste.  If  she  were  a 
man,  she  would  fall  in  love  with  this  tall 
beautiful  creature  that  was  at  once  so  self- 
possessed  a  young  woman  and  of  so  wild  a 
nature  that  a  word  could  lure  her  to  the 
maddest  fantasy,  or  affright  with  remote 
silences  beyond  ordinary  dumbness.  How 
glad  she  was  that  both  were  tall.  Men  of  a 
romantic  temperament  prefer  tall  women, 
she  remembered  to  have  heard. 

"  Honor,"  she  asked  abruptly  at  this  junc- 
ture, "  would  you  say  that  he  is  of  a  romantic 
temperament?" 

"  My  dear  Nora,  do  not  tantalize  me  with 
a  riddle  that  promises  to  resolve  itself  so 
delightfully.  Be  plain  with  me  if  you  value 
my  peace  of  mind  —  or  yours.  Who  is 
HE?'' 

*'  Why,  Richard,  my  husband,  of  course." 

Mrs.  Adair  looked  at  her  friend  with  a 
curious  expression.  That  ^^  of  course  "  opened 
appalling  perspectives  of  marital  felicity. 
Mrs.  Adair  was  not  sentimental.  She  always 
declared  she  was  not  cynical.  She  was  cer- 
6 


Wives  in  Exile 

tainly  in  love  with  Wilfrid  Adair.  But,  after 
three  years,  to  allude  to  a  romantic  '■^  Hc,'^ 
or  a  "IJc'^  in  connection  with  romantic 
sentiment,  and  to  wed  this  "  He  "  to  an  "  of 
course  "  of  relativity  to  one's  husband,  this, 
indeed,  was  strange.  She  knew  Leonora. 
She  knew  Richard  Parkins  Wester.  They 
were  happy ;  they  were  well  content ;  they 
were  well  suited,  the  one  to  the  other.  But 
Mr.  Wester  was  not  the  likeliest  person  to 
identify  with  a  "  He  "  of  romance.  Honor 
Adair  had  come  to  Dublin  to  embark  on  a 
somewhat  novel  voyage.  A  minute  ago  she 
had  thrilled  to  the  exciting  thought  that  she 
was  on  the  verge  of  a  not  less  alluring  men- 
tal excursion.  It  was  disappointing  to  be 
arrested  at  the  last  moment  by  so  insignifi- 
cant a  familiarity  as  Mr.  Wester. 

"  Oh,  Richard,  your  husband,  —  of  course." 
"  Honor,  you  absurd  girl,  what  is  voyaging 
through  that  mysterious  mind  of  yours?" 

"  Nothing.  I  was  dreaming.  The  rain 
and  the  wind  charm  one  into  happy 
silences  as  much  as  —  as  much  as  —  the 
conversation  of  a  person  of  a  romantic 
temperament ! " 

7 


Wives  in   Exile 

*'  Conversation  —  no  !  That  would  be 
flying  in  the  face  of  Providence.  The 
sweetest  conversation  a  deux  is  when  it  is  all 
on  one  side  and  in  a  low  voice.  We  might 
even  go  so  far  as  to  say  a  whisper.  But  come  ! 
You  have  not  answered  my  question." 

"Your  question?  —  Oh,  yes,  of  course, 
I  remember.     Well,  —  " 

"  Oh,  never  mind.  It  does  not  matter 
now.  I  too  was  thinking  of  some  one  else 
—  some  one  whom  you  do  not  know." 

"  Tell  me." 

"What?" 

"About  the  some  one." 

"  Do  not  be  absurd.  No ;  I  tell  you 
frankly  myself  that  I  do  not  think  Richard 
exactly  romantic.  He  maintains  he  is.  He 
bases  this  belief  on  the  fact  that  it  was  on  a 
Friday  he  asked  me  to  marry  him,  and,  that, 
moreover,  married  we  were  on  a  Friday." 

"Well,  that's  about  as  much  romance  as 
one  can  fairly  look  for  in  marriage." 

"  Now,  Honor,  you  know  you  are  riding 
your  tongue  with  a  spur,  as  they  say." 

"  Wilfrid  and  I  had  a  much  more  romantic 
experience.  The  tide  went  out,  however,  all 
8 


Wives  in  Exile 

the  same.  The  tide  seems  ahvays  to  be  on 
the  ebb  immediately  after  it  reaches  the 
altar.  We,  too,  were  married  on  a  Friday ; 
but  while  your  Friday  was  a  nondescript  fifth 
day  (I  never  knew  whether  it  should  be 
called  fifth  or  sixth)  ours  was  the  31st  of 
October,  — Hallowmas  Eve.  To  be  married 
on  the  day  of  Hallowe'en  is  to  play  at  skittles 
with  an  offended  deity,  the  wedded  couple 
being  the  skittles  of  course.  But  to  be 
married  at  Hallowtide  when  it  happens  to 
fall  on  a  Friday  is  to  invite  Satan  to  your 
house  as  an  honored  guest,  and  then  need- 
lessly insult  him  by  a  gift  of  the  Shorter 
Catechism  or  an  S.  P.  C.  K.  pamphlet." 

"  But  did  it  make  no  difference  to  you  and 
Wilfrid?" 

"  Certainly,  It  amused  us.  It  annoyed 
his  people." 

"  But  in  the  matter  of  romance?  " 

"  In  the  matter  of  romance  I  must  admit 
that  it  did  not  have  much  effect." 

"  Did  it  not  draw  you  closer?  " 

"Why  should  it?" 

"  Oh  —  well  —  the  knowledge  that  you  had 
done  something  that  made  people  shiver  with 

9 


Wives  in  Exile 

apprehension,  or  frown,  or  put  on  a  Sabbath- 
morning  aspect  of  all  uncharitableness." 

"  Did  you  and  Richard  draw  closer  on 
account  oi  your  Friday  transgression?" 

"  No,  I  can't  say  we  did.  We  quarrelled 
about  it." 

"Ah." 

"  I  hated  the  idea.  It  seemed  so  wanton 
a  tempting  of  —  something" 

"  Why  did  you  do  it,  then?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  till  after  we  were  mar- 
ried :  I  mean,  I  never  thought  about  it. 
The  very  first  thing  that,  as  Mrs.  Wester,  I 
asked  Richard  to  do  for  me,  he  refused.  I 
requested  him  to  forget  that  his  heedless 
parent  had  given  him  Parkins  as  a  second 
name ;  and  in  any  case  to  cease  from  allu- 
sion to,  or  even  from  signing  as,  Richard  P. 
He  refused.  I  told  him  he  had  no  imagina- 
tion ;  if  he  had,  he  would  have  known  that  a 
sensitive  woman  could  not  be  quite  happy 
with  such  an  initial  as  P.  sandwiched  into 
her  married  designation.  What  could  one 
expect  of  an  unextended  P.  but  that  it  her- 
alded Peter,  or  Potts,  or  Prodgers,  or  some 
other  horror? 

lO 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Richard  said  it  might  just  as  Hkely  be  Plan- 
tagenet,  or  Percy,  or  Penrhyn.  '  Oh,'  I  went 
on,  '  you  might  adduce  Pericles  or  Pindar  or 
anything  you  like  from  Plato  to  Perwinkle,  — 
only  it  did  not  alter  the  caseJ"  Richard 
looked  bewildered.  *  What  case?  '  he  asked, 
with  that  maddening  thirst  for  the  hard  fact 
which  is  so  intolerable  in  a  man  when  he  is 
no  longer  an  anxious  lover.  I  begged  him 
to  think  for  a  moment.  I  was  certain  to 
have  quite  sufficiently  a  hard  time  of  it,  in 
Brooklyn  and  New  York,  among  married  and 
unmarried  women  there,  without  having  to 
hang  out  a  signboard  as  to  a  tender  spot 
being  ready  to  hand.  Of  course,  they  would 
fasten  on  that  wretched  P.  *  Why  in  Heaven's 
name  should  they  ? '  he  demanded  with  absurd 
warmth  :  *  more  men  in  America  went  through 
life  with  a  second  name  contracted  to  an  ini- 
tial than  the  census  could  tackle.'  He  said  it 
was  more  difficult  to  slough  than  a  bad  repu- 
tation. I  said  it  was  a  bad  reputation,  —  to 
go  about  with  an  unexplained  P.,  in  Society." 
"  What  did  he  say  to  that,  Leonora?  " 
"  Richard  is  concise.  He  said  :  '  Damn 
Society.'  " 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  And  he  nailed  P.  to  the  mast,  and 
said  that  he  would  sink  rather  than  sur- 
render." 

"  No  such  luck.  When  a  man  says  he 
will  never  surrender  he  proves  what  identical 
animals  men  and  women  are." 

"Women  always  surrender,  you  think?" 

"  No.  But  they  always  do  when  they 
swear  they  won't.  No  man  —  I  don't  mean 
a  male  creature,  but  a  man  —  would  dream 
of  relinquishing  his  desire  of  a  woman  be- 
cause she  told  him  she  would  never  sur- 
render." 

"  Because  in  the  very  saying  so  she  would 
have  already  opened  the  outer  gates." 

"  Exactly.  Well,  to  return  to  Richard. 
He  repeated  his  remark.  'Vcs:  damn  it. ^ 
These  were  his  exact  words.  '  It  is  easy  to 
damn  life  in  the  moon,'  I  said.  '  Oh,  come 
now,  Leonora,'  he  replied :  *  New  York 
State  isn't  Kamtchatka,  and  I  have  moved 
about  a  bit  in  Mayfair.' 

"  '  A  man  may  travel  in  strange  company,' 
was  my  response :  '  but  no  woman  who 
respects  herself  can  afford  to  go  about  with 
an  indefinite   P.'     '  Oh,  this  is  too  absurd,' 

12 


Wives  in   Exile 

exclaimed  my  husband ;  '  for  the  sake  of 
our  future  happiness  let  us  unchain  P.  and 
send  him  forth  conquering  and  to  conquer 
us  Parkins.' " 

"  Nora,  ma  chdrie,  what  has  all  this 
to  do  with  imagination,  and  your  Friday 
quarrel?" 

"  I  was  just  coming  to  it.  I  flatly  told 
him,  that  rather  than  be  known  as  Mrs. 
Parkins  Wester  I  would  part  from  him  there 
and  then.  I  complained  that  he  had  no 
imagination.  He  said  he  had.  He  then 
informed  me  as  to  his  recklessness  about 
both  proposing  and  marrying  on  a  Friday. 
Of  course  I  was  able  triumphantly  to  main- 
tain that  our  quarrel  was  due  to  that  wanton 
flying  in  the  face  of  common  prejudice. 
'  How  about  the  outcome  of  the  first  Friday,' 
he  demanded.  However,  I  left  him  in  high 
chagrin,  and  we  did  not  speak  again  till 
shortly  before  dinner." 

"  And  Mr.  Wester  retained  P.  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  with  a  compromise.     He  said 

he  would  tell  no  one  what  it  stood  for :  what 

was  more   to  the  point,   he  added  that  he 

would  hint  it  was  a  mysterious  designation,  — 

13 


Wives  in  Exile 

the  name  of  a  country,  to  suggest  intimate 
relationships  of  a  pecuUar  kind.  '  There  are 
only  Palestine  and  Peru,'  I  objected ;  '  the 
first  suggests  Jewish  extraction,  and  the 
second  an  agency  in  nitrate.'  'There  is 
Persia,'  he  said  quietly.  I  saw  the  light 
through  that  chink.  Except  some  detest- 
able Parkinses  who  live  in  Massachusetts, 
and  a  few  irresponsible  persons  in  New  York, 
no  one  knows  that  Parkins  holds  on  with  a 
despairing  clutch  to  *  Wester.'  We  have  had 
a  lot  of  fun  out  of  *  Persia.'  Only  the  other 
day,  at  Mountmichael,  when  that  awful  crea- 
ture Mr.  Stapleton  Fogo  asked  if  my  hus- 
band were  any  relation  of  some  R.  Pringle 
Wester  in  London,  I  said,  with  an  air  of 
condescension  :  '  I  thought  every  one  knew 
that  Mr.  Wester  was  called  after  the  ancient 
and  royal  country  of  Persia,  where  —  but 
no,  state-secrets  were  state-secrets  !  '  You 
should  have  seen  the  Reverend  James's 
face.  He  drew  me  aside  afterwards,  and 
remonstrated.  '  Have  I  been  mistaken, 
my  dear  Leonora,'  he  asked,  *  in  taking 
Mr.  Wester's  second  name  to  be,  not  Persia, 
but  Parkins  ?  '  '  My  dearest  James,'  I  re- 
14 


Wives  in  Exile 

plied,  '  as  the  Rev.  Lord  Curraghmore, 
you  are  too  amusing  for  anything.'  — '  But  a 
fact,  Leonora,  is  a  fact.'  — '  Rarely,  my  dear 
James  ! '  —  'A  fact  not  a  fact !  Why  —  ' 
But  here  I  interjected  a  remark  :  *  Go,  my 
dear  brother  :  you  do  not  understand  women. 
A  wrinkle,  a  gray  hair,  a  rheumatic  twinge, 
each  of  these  is  a  factv  A  name  is  not  a 
fact.  A  ranunculus  is  not  a  ranunculus 
(which  is  nothing  at  all),  but  only  a  flower 
that  for  convenience'  sake  we  call  a  ranuncu- 
lus. If  Persia  suits  us  better  than  Parkins 
there  is  no  commandment  to  break  in  our 
adoption  of  it,  save  that  against  fibbing  ;  but 
what  is  a  stray  fib  in  the  universal  hurly- 
burly  of  things?  Now  go,  I  say;  go  and 
rejoin  Stapleton  Fogo,  and  tell  him,  if  you 
like,  that  I  had  a  sunstroke  in  Persia,  and 
have  had  an  affection  for  the  name  ever 
since.  And  then  fetch  me  a  cup  of  tea, 
and  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  look  so 
serious  !  '  " 

Mrs.  Adair  sat  back  in  her  lounge-chair 
and  laughed  that  low  music  of  hers  which 
set  men's  hearts  a-beating. 

"  You  are  too  delightful,  Leonora.     I  sup- 

15 


Wives  in  Exile 

pose  you   are  even   now   talking   wildly   at 
random." 

"At  random,  my  dear  Honor?  Never 
was  I  more  serious.  Hark  to  that  wind  ! 
Think  upon  what  we  have  put  our  hands  to 
do!" 

"  It  is  what  we  have  been  thinking  of  all 
the  time  we  have  been  speaking." 

"Alas,  yes." 

"  I  wonder  if  Harry  has  managed  every- 
thing rightly  at  Queenstown." 

"We  ought  to  have  heard  from  him. 
Wretch  that  he  is  to  keep  two  beautiful 
women  hanging  upon  a  word  from  his  lips. 
Oh,  Honor,  let  us  make  him  pay  for  it  some 
day." 

"He  is  married,  alas." 

"  So  much  the  easier  for  us.  A  man  rolls 
off  his  little  hill  so  easily  when  he  thinks  he 
has  settled  himself  at  the  summit  like  a 
boulder." 

"  But  then  "  — 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure.     But  now  let  us  leave 
Harry  Adair  in  the   mean  time.     I  wonder 
what  Wilfrid  and  Mr.  Wester  are  doing  in 
London  at  this  moment." 
i6 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  They  will  be  at  a  theatre,  or  at  a  chib  — • 
perhaps  discussing  us.  Woman  is  an  end- 
less theme  for  men." 

"  Women,  my  dear  Nora.  There  is  a 
distinction.  Women  are  interested  in  wo- 
man, men  in  women." 

"  If  they  are  discussing  us,  I  hope  their 
consciences  smite  them." 

"  The  male  conscience  follows  the  exam- 
ple of  its  intimate  friend,  the  liver.  It  is 
apt  to  get  sluggish  early  in  life.  No,  cain- 
erado  mio,  if  our  husbands  are  discussing 
women,  it  is  not  likely  we  are  in  it,  —  save 
as  menacing  shadows  in  the  background  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  men  never  think  about 
their  wives  when  they  are  away  from  them  ?  " 

"  Of  course  they  think  about  them.  They 
have  always  '  a  lot  of  things  to  remember.' 
But  after  a  year  or  so  of  marriage  they  bear 
up.  It  is  wonderful  how  patient  in  endur- 
ance a  married  man  can  be,  separated  from 
his  wife." 

"  Could  you  be  jealous,  Honor?  I  was 
going  to  say,  are  you  jealous?  Eut  I  don't 
believe  so  beautiful  a  woman  as  yourself  could 
possibly  have  cause." 

2  J7 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  How  sweet  of  you,  Nora.  As  to  jeal- 
ousy, —  well,  I  don't  know.  I  am  not  of  a 
jealous  temperament,  so  far  as  that  goes. 
They  say  that  women  are  always  more  jeal- 
ous than  men.  I  don't  believe  it.  They  are 
more  exacting  in  little  things,  I  grant.  A 
jealous  woman,  too,  commits  a  greater  mis- 
take than  a  jealous  man  does,  —  and  to  com- 
mit a  mistake  is,  as  you  know,  more  often 
fatal  than  to  break  several  commandments. 
Be  jealous,  and  your  husband  will  be  dis- 
loyal to  you  in  word  and  deed ;  do  not  be 
jealous,  and  he  will  at  any  rate  be  open  with 
you  orally.  For  a  woman,  particularly  for  a 
wife,  to  exhibit  jealousy,  is  to  close  a  prom- 
ising well-spring  of  interest.  It  is  as  though 
one  were  to  go  to  the  theatre  to  hear  a  com- 
edy, but  to  stop  up  one's  ears  beforehand. 
A  man  will  dissect  his  reputation  to  a  sym- 
pathetic wife,  and  enjoy  the  experience.  A 
shade  of  jealousy  —  and  the  gay  Jack  of  the 
past  is  buried  as  a  Sadducee  in  the  sedate 
John  of  respectability." 

"That  is  all  very  well  of  certain  men. 
The  majority  of  the  species  is  uninteresting." 

"  Of  course." 


Wives  in  Exile 

"Who  would  care  to  have  the  confidences 
of  the  respectable  Johns?  Most  of  them 
have  enjoyed  a  flirtation  with  a  barmaid, 
glorify  it  with  an  imaginary  aureole,  and 
allude  to  it  as  an  early  romance.  Besides, 
—  to  the  elect  of  the  earth  there  are  only  a 
few  men  and  women  who  are  really  interest- 
ing. The  vast  majority  of  persons  consists 
merely  of  tedious  tracts  with  an  obvious 
moral.  The  others  are  more  or  less  clever 
and  interesting  novels.  Now  and  again  we 
encounter  a  romance." 

"  The  worst  of  encountering  a  '  romance  ' 
is  that  we  are  so  apt  to  fall  in  love  with 
'him'  or  'her.'" 

"  Don't  you  think  a  good  deal  depends  in 
the  attitude  of  the  '  romance  '  ?  It  is  cer- 
tainly apt  to  be  irresistible  if  it  make  the 
first  move.  I  grant  that.  But  its  appear- 
ance is  so  rare  that  we  are  as  likely  as  not 
to  set  ourselves  to  enjoy  it  spectacularly,  as 
a  blas^  theatre-goer  suddenly  finds  himself 
witnessing  something  at  once  really  novel  and 
striking  and  superbly  acted." 

"  I  wonder  if  romance  —  I  mean  the  real 
thing  —  is    the    paramount     prerogative   of 

19 


Wives  in  Exile 

either  sex.  I  mean,  are  women  in  the  main, 
or  are  men  in  the  main,  more  romantic? 
What  do  you  think,  Leonora?" 

"  I  think  the  difference  is  that  of  incident 
and  episode.  Romance  lies  more  in  inci- 
dent for  men,  on  the  whole,  I  think.  In 
episode,  which  does  not  necessarily  involve 
peril  or  any  hazard  for  the  body,  but  is  much 
more  an  occasion  for  the  adventurous  or 
curious  spirit,  women  range  more  freely  and 
naturally  than  men.  A  real  episode  is  always 
a  tragi-comedy  for  a  v/oman,  even  when  the 
sun  shines  throughout  and  all  ends  well.  For 
a  man  it  is  a  glorified  incident.  Of  course, 
there  are  men  —  and  men.  A  manly  man, 
of  the  finest  breed,  is  one  third  woman. 
Other  men  can  lead  romantic  lives,  can  have 
romantic  experiences ;  it  is  only  men  of  this 
rare  kind  who  are  in  themselves  romantic." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  that  brings  us  round  to 
your  question :  Do  I  think  Richard  Wester 
romantic?  I  have  already  given  you  my 
answer." 

"  How  cruel  even  a  friend  can  be.  How- 
ever, I  forgive  you.  I  brought  it  upon 
myself.  And  now,  dear,  I  must  go  and 
20 


Wives  in  Exile 

write  my  letter  for  to-morrow's  American 
mail.  What  shall  you  do?  Have  you  a 
book?  Ah,  here  is  a  good  idea.  We  said 
we  would  collaborate  in  a  novel  some  day. 
Let  us  begin  now.  Here  we  are  on  the 
verge  of  an  unconventional  experience.  It 
ought  to  stimulate  us.  Come,  Honor,  you 
make  the  first  plunge  while  I  am  writing  my 
long  letter.  Let  it  be  anything  you  like,  — 
a  novel,  a  short  story,  a  fantasy,  an  essay ! 
I  am  ready  to  accommodate  you,  you 
see  !  " 

"  Nonsense,  Nora.  You  know  that  neither 
of  us  can  write.  It  was  an  absurd  idea. 
No ;  I  have  my  journal  here,  if  I  want  to 
occupy  myself.  I  prefer  looking  into  the 
fire  and  dreaming.  Besides,  after  all,  the 
last  post  may  not  be  here  yet.  There  is 
still  time  to  hear  from  Harry  Adair.  If  he 
does  n't  write  he  's  sure  to  telegraph.  You 
go  and  write  your  letter.  If  I  feel  inclined 
I  '11  commit  my  valuable  memoranda  to  my 
diary." 

"Oh,  are  you  not  excited?  /am.  How 
good  it  is  to  be  alive  !  But  do,  do  let  us 
write  something  together  some  day.     What 


Wives  in  Exile 

if  writing  be  supremely  difficult  for  one,  and 
almost  impossible  a  deux !  Honestly,  I 
would  rather  know  how  to  write  than  any- 
thing else.     I  —  " 

*'  There  are  many  who  know  how  to 
write :  there  are  few  who  know  how  to 
live." 

The  words  that  followed  are  already  on 
record. 

Mrs.  Wester  had  not  yet  risen  from  her 
chair  in  front  of  the  fire,  and  from  her  sur- 
reptitious contemplation  of  herself  and  Mrs. 
Adair  in  the  opposite  mirror,  when  a  waiter 
entered  bearing  a  small  salver  on  which  was 
the  brown  envelope  of  a  telegram. 

Leonora  shredded  the  cover  with  avidity. 
She  scanned  it  with  the  eagerness  of  a  wind- 
hover over  a  young  partridge- brood.  Hav- 
ing dismissed  the  waiter,  she  read  the  mes- 
sage to  her  companion.  Her  voice  had  in  it 
the  tragi-comedy  of  '  a  real  (feminine)  epi- 
sode.'    The  telegram  ran  thus  :  — 

To  Mrs.  Leonora  Wester, 

Royal  Erin  Hotel,  Dublin. 

The  Belle  Aurore  sailed  early  this  morning.     De- 
lay due  to  difficulty  in  obtaining  scratch  male  crew 
22 


Wives  in  Exile 

for  the  occasion.  Your  own  crew  declined  to  sail 
on  account  of  the  weather.  They  go  north  l)y  rail 
to-night.  Mrs.  Moriarty  or  Miss  Macfee  will  call 
in  the  early  morning  for  final  instructions.  Have 
written. 

H.  Adair. 


23 


CHAPTER  11. 

"  A  ND  now,  my  dear  Jocelyn,  I  must  tell 
l\  you  about  my  doings."  So  began 
the  second  part  of  Mrs.  Waster's  letter  to 
her  friend  in  Brooklyn,  Mrs.  Rivers. 

Leonora  was  now  the  sole  occupant  of  the 
drawing-room  in  the  Royal  Erin  Hotel.  She 
had  deserted  the  arm-chair,  the  fire,  and  the 
mirror,  for  the  escritoire,  where,  before  be- 
ginning her  letter  to  Mrs.  Rivers,  she  had 
sat  for  some  time  meditating  a  missive  to 
Mr.  Wester. 

"Yes:  Honoris  right,"  she  muttered,  as 
she  slowly  tore  up  the  two  sheets  whereon 
appeared  nothing  further  than,  on  the  one, 
"  Dearest  Richard,"  and  on  the  other,  "  My 
dear  Richard."  "  Assuredly,  as  she  says,  it 
will  be  time  enough  to  write  to  our  husbands 
when  once  we  have  started.  There  's  many 
a  slip,  &c. :  and  since  that  annoying  and 
ridiculous  telegram  from  Harry  I  feel  as 
24 


Wives  in  Exile 

though  the  Fates  were  against  us,  —  worse 
than  that,  as  if  they  were  laughing  at  us. 
No  :  I  '11  write  to  Jocclyn,  and  then  go  to 
bed.  Now  that  I  think  of  it,  there  is  nothing 
out  of  the  common  in  these  creatures  having 
refused  to  sail  in  the  Belle  Aiirore,  not  be- 
cause the  weather  was  so  bad,  but  because 
yesterday  was  Friday.  How  stupid  of  me  to 
forget.  Of  course  that  is  it.  I  have  often 
heard  that  sailors  hate  to  sail  on  a  Friday. 
I  wonder  if  I  should  go  and  tell  Honor 
about  this?  Oh  no,  it  will  do  when  I  go 
upstairs." 

A  sigh  of  relief,  and  she  drew  some  note- 
paper  towards  her.  With  the  rapidity  nat- 
ural to  one  who  could  lounge  with  such  com- 
plete indolence  and  grace,  she  drove  her  pen 
along  the  white  pages,  response  after  response 
to  Mrs.  Rivers'  remarks  and  questions  charg- 
ing swiftly  as  a  battalion  of  horse.  Erelong 
Part  I.  ended  with  an  italicised  And  now  > 

"  How  it  would  delight  you,  dear  Jocelyn, 
to  be  here  just  now,  —  that  is,  to  be  here 
with  us,  at  this  moment,  on  our  present  ven- 
ture. We  are  playing  off  our  own  bat :  covi- 
prenez  vous,  fua  chere  ? 

25 


Wives  in   Exile 

"  Who  are  '  we,'  you  will  say  —  for,  mar- 
ried dame  as  you  are,  you  will  at  once 
have  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  my  allu- 
sion is  not  to  Richard  and  myself.  You  have 
heard  me  speak  of  her,  —  I  mean  the  other 
part  of  '  we.'  For  a  '  her  '  (should  I  say  a 
*  she  ')  it  (she)  is.  Honor  Adair  is  too 
delightful  for  anything.  Not  only  is  she 
beautiful  (come  now,  Jocelyn,  don't  smile, 
and  for  my  part  I  '11  be  frank)  —  as  beauti- 
ful a  brunette  as  I  am  a  blonde,  only  I 
honestly  think  much  more  so :  but  she  is 
also  as  blithe  and  brave  and  independent 
and  altogether  sweet  and  dear  a  girl  as  ever 
you  saw,  or  are  like  to  see.  She  is  taller 
than  I  am,  though  I  am  fairly  tall  as  you 
know.  Let  me  see;  you  cannot  have  for- 
gotten about  her?  When  Richard  came  over 
to  Ireland  three  years  ago  it  was,  you  may 
remember,  to  visit  his  Oxford  friend  Wilfrid 
Adair.  It  was  while  at  Adair's  place,  Mar- 
tin's Hope,  that  he  met  and  chummed  with 
'  the  late  Lord  Curraghmore,'  as  he  always 
alluded  to  my  father.  He  took  an  equally 
immediate  and  pronounced  dislike  to  my 
brother,  'The  Reverend  James,'  as  we  in- 
26 


Wives  in  Exile 

variably  call  the  present  Lord  Curraghmore. 
When  he  was  making  up  his  mind  to  lay  his 
heart  and  fortune  at  my  feet  (strange  that 
since  marriage  his  fortune  has,  in  rising  from 
my  feet  to  my  hands,  dwindled  extraordi- 
narily in  the  process  !)  I  was  under  the  im- 
pression that  the  object  of  his  affections,  — 
a  conventional  phrase  singularly  in  keeping 
with  the  men  we  know  and  meet,  whatever 
of  consuming  passion  the  men  of  fiction  may 
have,  —  was  no  other  than  Honor  O'Connell, 
the  daughter  of  that  Terence  O'Connell,  Squire 
of  Tansor,  who  a  year  before  had  been  killed 
in  the  hunting  field.  Honor  was  at  the  time 
staying  with  her  maternal  uncle,  Dr.  Septi- 
mus Malone,  who  had  a  pretty  little  place 
wedged  in  between  Mountmichael  and  Mar- 
tin's Hope.  By  the  way,  did  you  know  that 
Wilfrid  Adair  is  my  cousin?  However  the 
upshot  was  that  I  became  Mrs.  Richard  Par- 
kins Wester  and  Honor  a  few  months  later 
changed  her  name  from  O'Connell  to  Adair. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  we  had  all  four  fallen  in 
love,  and  become  engaged,  about  the  same 
time.  Cousin  though  he  was,  I  had  never 
seen  much  of  Wilfrid.  He  was,  in  my  time 
27 


Wives  in  Exile 

(dear  me,  what  an  atrocious  phrase,  sugges- 
tive of  matronly  stoutness,  whist  parties,  and 
premature  piety),  an  absentee  landlord,  and 
marriage  has  n't  much  improved  him  in  this 
respect.  Honor  is  too  pretty  to  wish  to  bury 
herself  in  the  country.  She  is  too  innocent, 
the  dear  thing  !  She  loves  the  country  (and 
truly  I  believe),  and  does  not  imagine  that 
the  implied  homage  she  meets  with  in  Lon- 
don every  time  she  stirs  from  the  door  is  a 
very  tolerable  incense  indeed.  She  would, 
no  doubt,  love  the  country  longer  than  her 
husband,  if  she  had  to  put  up  with  both  con- 
tinuously and  unmodified.  The  country  can 
become  a  minister  of  apathy,  but  a  husband 
(in  the  country)  can  be  as  bitters  without 
the  fit  concomitant.  A  pretty  woman  like 
Honor  is  so  delightfully  self-sophisticated. 
She  believes  she  can  thrive  without  the  com- 
pany of  her  fellows,  particularly  her  fellow- 
women.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  would  be 
more  independent  than  most  women  for,  say 
a  week ;  perhaps  two  ;  possibly  three.  Then 
the  woman  in  her  would  mutiny.  That 's 
when  and  where  the  peril  comes  in.  If  a 
woman  like  Honor  yields  then,  —  sensibly 
28 


Wives  in   Exile 

caves  in  —  well,  all  's  well  that  ends  well. 
If  she  does  n't,  there  's  an  imitation  French 
Revolution  brewing ;  or  a  volcanic  eruption  ; 
or,  at  the  very  least,  what  Richard  concisely 
calls  '  ructions.'  I  daresay  Wilfrid  Adair  — 
who  adores  her  —  sees  the  polish  off  the 
mahogany  occasionally,  to  quote  Richard 
again.  I  have  never  seen  her  in  a  rage,  but 
I  've  had  glimpses  of  her  hanging  around  the 
crates.  Richard  says  she  has  a  devil  of  a 
controlled  temper.  He  is  often  very  vague 
in  his  epithets.  I  know  what  you  are  saying 
or  thinking,  my  dear  Jocelyn  :  O  that  this 
Mrs.  Adair  had  the  equable  sweetness  and 
suavity  of  my  dearest  Leonora  ! 

"  Dear  me,  how  I  am  wandering.  You 
want  to  know,  of  course,  how,  when,  and 
why  we  —  Honor  and  I  —  are  about  to  play 
off  our  bat. 

"  You  will  have  received  ere  this  my  brief 
note  from  Mountmichael,  —  or  did  I  write 
from  Queenstown?  At  any  rate  when  Rich- 
ard and  I  reached  my  brother's  place  we 
found  Wilfrid  and  Honor  Adair  to  be  guests 
like  ourselves  of  the  Reverend  James.  Wil- 
frid had  let  Martin's  Hope,  and  had  accepted 
29 


Wives  in  Exile 

Lord  Curraghmore's  invitation  to  spend  a 
few  weeks  at  Mountmichael  while  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Wester  were  there. 

*"Je  serai  bref,  car  j'aspire  a  des  conclu- 
sions imm^diates,'  says  Sainte  Beuve,  in  a 
volume  of  his  essays  which  I  was  reading  on 
the  Sunday  of  our  voyage  ;  and  I  cannot  do 
better  than  try  to  follow  his  example,  —  or 
rather  his  precept,  the  wretch,  for  I  think  he 
rambles  frightfully.  I  wonder  whether  men 
or  women  are  most  discursive.  I  must  say 
I  think  men  are  less  concise  (except  when 
they  are  giving  expression  to  their  temper), 
less  direct.  What  a  pity  some  one  does  not 
invent  a  man-microscope  !  What  a  delight 
it  would  be  to  look  into  the  minds  and  souls 
and  actual  lives  of  men,  —  I  mean  of  men 
who  interest  us.  Even  one's  husband  would 
be  profoundly  interesting.  Honor  admits 
she  does  not  wholly  know  Wilfrid,  and  per- 
haps there  are  certain  shallows  in  Richard's 
nature  which  I  have  not  examined,  or  rather 
discovered.  Think  what  —  but  no,  I  "will 
keep  to  the  point. 

"Where  were  we?  Oh,  yes,  at  Mount- 
michael. Let  me  admit  straightway  that  we 
3° 


Wives   in  Exile 

all  four  —  after  the  first  few  days  —  began  to 
weary.  We  found  the  local  society  dull,  and 
the  Reverend  James  duller.  The  summer 
has  been  a  glorious  one,  but  the  prolonged 
heat  has  got  into  the  blood,  and  man,  woman, 
and  child  yearn  for  a  move  into  a  cooler  air. 

"  The  bolt  fell  thus. 

"  I  was  in  the  hammock  in  the  pine-grove 
which  abuts  on  the  tennis-ground.  I  had 
fallen  asleep.  Aroused  by  voices,  I  was  soon 
aware  that  my  husband  at  any  rate  was  pres- 
ent. No  man  ever  had  such  a  chuckle,  as 
I  've  often  told  him. 

"  What 's  up,  old  chap  ?  '  I  heard  some 
one  —  Wilfrid  —  ask. 

" '  Wilfrid  Adair,  have  you  read  Mon- 
taigne ? ' 

"  I  was  amazed.  Richard  is  not  literary 
in  his  taste  for  reading,  though,  as  he  says, 
he  is  fond  of  books  that  will  either  soothe 
him  as  an  opium-draught  or  rouse  him  as  a 
hurricane. 

"  Wilfrid  said  he  had,  and  added  that  the 
copy  in  Richard's  hands  was  his  wife's,  given 
her  by  Lord  Curraghmore  as  a  birthday- 
present,  and  with  an  accompanying  warning. 

31 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  *  He  lives  on  the  branch,  does  Master 
Montaigne.  What  do  you  think  of  this  in 
general :  "  As  soon  as  women  ai'e  ours,  we 
are  no  longer  theirs  ;  "  and  —  and  now,  Wil- 
frid Adair,  you  mark  me  well  —  of  this  m 
particular :  "  The  yoke  of  love  is  sometimes 
heavier  than  that  of  all  the  virtues P  ' 

"  That  wretch,  Wilfrid,  answered,  with  a 
sigh,  —  positively  with  a  sigh,  and  added : 
*Yes,  my  dear  fellow,  the  tyranny  of  love 
demands  more  than  a  nation  in  despair  could 
venture  to  ask.' 

"  I  was  now  determined  to  listen.  I  had 
just  been  about  to  go  away,  or  to  make  my 
neighborhood  known. 

"  '  Have  n't  seen  any  of  those  yokes  loose 
about  Mountmichael,  have  you  ? '  asked  my 
husband,  with  that  graceless  lack  of  good 
feeling  and  proper  English  to  which  I  have 
drawn  his  attention    again  and  again. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,  old  man.  But  what 
are  we  to  do.  I  admit  that  another  month 
here  will  be  apt  to  produce  confirmed  mel- 
ancholia. But  Curraghmore  's  such  a  touchy 
chap.' 

"  '  His  sister,  you  know,  has  something  of 
32 


Wives  in  Exile 

his  nature.'  This  was  uttered  by  Richard  in 
as  cold  and  passionless  a  voice  as  though  he 
were  asking  for  a  match,  only  with  less  real 
interest. 

"  I  wonder  they  did  not  hear  my  gasp. 
Mr.  Wester's  injustice  and  callousness  mad- 
dened me.  I  tell  you  of  it,  dear  Jocelyn,  to 
let  you  see  what  even  an  adored  wife  has  to 
put  up  with  from  a  husband.  Don't  tell  me 
*  that  a  man 's  a  man  whate'er  betide.'  A 
married  man  is  a  thing  by  itself;  a  distinct 
genus. 

"  There  was  a  silence  after  this  of  at  least 
five  minutes.  I  heard  their  outgiven  breath 
as  they  smoked.  Strange  that  men  should 
require  to  ruminate  so  long.  They  would 
not  care  to  be  likened  to  cows.  Why 
then  do  they  so  provokingly  invite  the 
comparison  ? 

"  At  last  Richard  spoke. 

"  *  Adair,  my  boy  ! ' 

*"Well?' 

" '  In  three  months  time  I  must  be  back 

in  New  York.     If  one  gives  two  thirds  of 

one's  time  to  one's  wife  in  a  long  holiday 

one  does  the  square  thing,  don't  you  think 

3  33 


Wives  in  Exile 

so  ?  Just  so :  I  thought  you  would.  Now 
I  propose  that  you  and  I  accept  Gustav 
Andersen's  invitation  that  he  made  us  in 
Norway.  Thence  we  can  go  to  Scotland, 
and  have  some  shooting  at  your  cousin's 
place.' 

"  *  Good ;  so  far  as  Norway  is  concerned. 
But  I  don't  care  about  going  to  my  cousin's 
now  that  Lady  Heriotdale  is  dead.  Heriot- 
dale  is  almost  as  great  a  bore  as  Curragh- 
more ;  besides  he  is  one  of  those  tiresome 
formalists  who  think  married  people  ought 
always  to  appear  as  a  pair.  If  I  were  to  go 
there  without  Honor,  or  she  without  me,  he 
would  think  we  were  unhappy.  There  are 
people  like  that,  you  know;  who  think  a 
man  and  woman  can  scarce  breathe  happily 
apart.' 

"  '  O  Lord  1 ' 

"  '  Exactly.  But  instead  of  some  indiffer- 
ent shooting  at  Heriotdale's,  what  do  you  say 
to  taking  a  yacht  on  the  Clyde  and  having  a 
good  cruise  around  the  Highland  sea-lochs.' 

"  *  Splendid ;  and  by  Jove  we  might  — ' 

"  I  would  have  given  a  good  deal,  my 
dear  Jocelyn,  to  hear  what  Richard  said ; 
34 


Wives  in  Exile 

but  he  spoke  in  a  stage-whisper.  Wilfrid 
laughed  lightly,  and  answered  to  the  effect 
that  man  might  subdue  a  continent  but 
could  n't  repress  the  old  Adam  who  sat  on 
the  box-seat  over  humanity  and  held  the  reins. 

"  *  What  do  you  say  to  going  off  this  week- 
end ?  '  Richard  resumed.  *  We  could  fix  in 
a  few  days  in  London.  There  's  more  than 
enough  to  see  there  in  the  way  of  friends, 
theatres,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.' 

"  '  I  'm  ready,  my  boy.  Honor  's  a  good 
sort  and  won't  mind.  She  's  pledged  to  stay 
here,  or  else  I  would  '  — 

"  *  No,  no,  Wilfrid  Adair.  When  you 
want  whiskey,  have  whiskey,  and  when  you 
want  whiskey  and  water  have  whiskey  and 
water,  but  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  get  into 
the  habit  of  mixing  the  two  merely  for  the 
sake  of  mixing.' 

"  The  wretches  seemed  to  find  something 
amusing  in  this.  My  amusement  was  of  a 
grimmer  kind.  I  know  Richard's  weak 
places,  and  there  was  a  long  evening  before 
me. 

"Unfortunately  I  heard  no  more  after  this, 
for  they  rose  and  strolled  away. 

35 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Well,  a  certain  idea  came  into  my  mind 
straightway.  But  of  this  later.  I  got  out 
of  the  hammock,  and  as  soon  as  I  reached 
the  house  I  went  to  Honor's  room.  She 
was  writing  something,  for  though  she  says 
nothing  about  it,  and  is  given  to  an  absurd 
disparagement  of  herself,  she  can  and  does 
*  write.'  But  she  would  not  put  aside  fiction 
for  actuality  !  In  a  short  time  (though  the 
first  gong  sounded,  I  admit  before  I  left  her) 
I  had  told  her  all,  and  we  had  practically 
resolved  on  our  conspiracy.  Also,  I  may 
add,  I  agreed  to  postpone  my  revenge  on 
master  Dick,  —  not  from  mercy,  but  policy  ! 

"  The  evening  party  was  dull  as  usual. 
Curraghmore  discussed  John  Stuart  Mill, 
while  Wilfrid  was  admiring  Honor's  profile 
and  Richard  was  looking  at  me  with  those 
appreciative  glances  which  in  a  married  man 
of  three  years'  standing  are  so  apt  to  signify 
either  a  request  to  be  proffered  erelong  (and 
granted  —  O  weak  woman  !) ,  or  else  prepara- 
tory conciliation  for  something  done  or  pro- 
jected, but  in  any  case  requiring  to  be  con- 
doned, 

"  But  a  blight  lay  upon  us  later  :  probably 
36 


Wives  in  Exile 

it  was  John  Stuart  Mill's  philosophy  —  or 
the  said  philosophy  as  seen  through  the 
Reverend  James's  pince-nez. 

"  Before  we  said  good-night,  Wilfrid  Adair 
remarked  casually  that,  as  he  had  just  been 
telling  Honor,  he  was  going  away  two  days 
hence  to  spend  a  week  or  two  with  an  old 
friend. 

"  I  tried  to  catch  Richard's  eye.  He  was 
looking  at  a  copy  of  one  of  Guido's  inane 
Madonnas,  with  an  expression  of  such  bland 
innocence  on  his  face  that  I  doubt  if  the 
like  of  it  has  been  there  since  he  knelt  in  a 
little  white  nightgown  at  the  feet  of  Mrs. 
Wester,  senior. 

"  Next  morning  I  was  in  the  breakfast, 
room  before  the  others.  There  were  news- 
papers and  a  circular  for  Richard,  but  no 
letters. 

"  After  the  usual  chit-chat  over  the  first 
coffee,  Richard  suddenly  lifted  a  letter  from 
the  table,  and  with  an  art  that  has  made 
me  feel  more  secure  for  the  future  (in  case 
he  should  lose  his  fortune  in  Wall  Street) 
announced  that  he  had  just  heard  he  would 
have  to  go  to  London  for  a  few  days. 
37 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  With  a  ridiculous  affectation  of  surprise, 
Wilfrid  Adair  remarked  that  this  would  fit 
in  with  his  own  departure  on  the  morrow, 
and  that  they  could  go  together. 

"  Wretches,  did  they  but  know  that  their 
souls  were  as  strayed  camels  in  the  Sahara, 
and  our  souls  as  unseen  vultures  flying  high 
above  their  foregone  prey  ! 

"  Honor  cracked  an  egg  with  an  inscruta- 
ble smile  in  her  eyes.  For  myself,  I  said 
sweetly  :  '  I  shall  go  with  you  as  far  as  Dub- 
lin, my  dear  Richard,  as  I  want  some  new 
things,  —  that  is,  if  you  don't  invite  me  to 
go  with  you  to  London.  TAere  'j  more  than 
enough  of  fiiends,  theatres,  a?id  all  the  rest 
of  it  to  see  there. ^ 

"  I  enjoyed  the  sudden  start  that  both 
gave.  Fortunately,  perhaps,  it  was  due  more 
to  the  instinctive  apprehension  of  a  guilty 
conscience  than  to  recognition  of  the  fact 
that  their  confidences  were  no  longer  their 
own. 

"  Well,  to  be  brief,  the  four  of  us  started 
on  the  morrow.  That  day,  however,  I  wrote 
a  long  letter  to  Harry  Adair,  my  younger 
cousin,     and    Honor's     brother-in-law,  —  a 


Wives  in   Exile 

charming  fellow,  settled  in  some  shipping 
agency  at  Queenstown. 

"  When  we  reached  Dublin,  what  do  you 
think  my  first  purchase  was?  A  dress —  a 
hat  —  gloves  —  or  the  like  ? 

"  It  was  a  copy  of  Montaigne. 

"  I  gave  this  to  Richard  as  we  said  good- 
by  on  the  Holyhead  packet. 

"  '  You  will  find  some  pleasant  and  usefiil 
reading  there,  my  dear  Dick,'  I  said, 
*  Montaigne  is  a  shrewd  as  well  as  a  charm- 
ing writer.  As  you  might  say,  he  lives  on  the 
top  dra?ichJ 

"Perhaps  he  thought  that  was  my  Par- 
thian arrow. 

"  He  would  probably  change  his  opinion 
when  he  looked  into  the  book,  and  saw, 
underlined  in  the  violet  ink  I  often  use,  two 
passages :  not  the  two  he  had  selected, 
but  these ;  the  first  significant,  though  not 
perhaps  at  first  sight  so  obvious,  the  second 
unmistakable  :  — 

"  '  Love  has  compensations  that  friendship 
has  not.^ 

"  '  Surely  man  is  a  being  zoondcifully  vain, 
changeable,  and  vacillating' 

39 


Wives   in  Exile 

"  On  the  fly-leaf  I  wrote,  — 

'  To  my  dear  Richard,  oit  his  starti?tg  on  a  tiresome 
business  journey  [with,  underneath,  the  following 
charming  aphorism] : 

'  The  moral  atnelioration  of  man  cofistitutes  the  chief 
mission  of  woman.' 

(Signed)  '  A  Faithful  Failure.' 

"  And  now  about  our  plan. 

"  It  came  to  me  like  a  flash  of  genius. 
We,  also,  —  that  is,  Honor  and  I  —  are  tired 
of  Mountmichael  and  the  Reverend  James ; 
we,  too,  would  each  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  a 
friendly  trip  with  a  dear  friend  ;  we,  like- 
wise, are  fond  of  the  sea,  and  would  dearly 
love  a  yachting  trip, 

"  A?id  a  cruise  in  a  yacht  on  our  own 
account  we  resolved  to  have. 

"  But  the  really  original  suggestion  came 
from  Honor. 

" '  It  may  or  may  not  be  the  case,  Leo- 
nora,' she  said  to  me,  '  that  we  are  the  first 
wives  who  have  gone  off  on  a  yachting  trip 
without  male  companionship ;  but  let  us  be 
consistent  throughout.' 

"'How?' 

" '  Why,  by  not  having  a  man  aboard  at  all.' 
40 


Wives   in   Exile 

"  *  Not  a  man  at  all,  Honor  Adair  !  '  I 
exclaimed  in  amazement.  *  But  don't  you 
know  I  mean  a  yacht,  not  a  sailing  boat,  and 
cruise,  not  a  trip  across  Dublin  Lough  ! ' 

"  *  I  do  know  that.  But  can't  you  see 
that  our  triumph  will  be  two-fold  — not  only 
over  our  husbands  but  over  men  in  general 
—  if  we  can  charter  a  yacht,  form  a  sailing 
crew  of  women,  and  act  as  our  skippers?' 

"  *  You  forget,  Honor,  that  I  am  a  mother,' 
I  interrupted  severely,  '  and  that  my  little 
Reginald  is  too  young  to  be  left  an  orphan, 
well-looked  after  as  he  is  by  Mrs.  Wester, 
senior.' 

" '  Nonsense,  my  dear  Nora.  You  and  I 
both  know  something  about  yachting ;  quite 
as  much  as  Wilfrid  does,  very  likely,  and  cer- 
tainly much  more  than  Richard  can  have  had 
time  to  pick  up.  As  for  the  crew,  we  can 
commission  Harry  Adair  at  Queenstown  to 
select  some  suitable  women,  —  women  who 
have  served  on  board  the  Atlantic  liners, 
women  who  have  manned  (can  we  say 
womaned?)  fishing  smacks,  —  women,  in  a 
word,  who  have  been  brought  up  by  the  sea, 
who  are  as  familiar  with  the  technicalities  of 
41 


Wives  in   Exile 

sailing  as  though  each  was  a  Will  Willyard 
instead  of  a  bide-i'-th'-house.  With  a  little 
explanation,  good  pay,  and  the  fun  of  the 
thing,  our  demand  would  soon  allure  a  sur- 
plus of  supply.' 

"  The  idea  staggered  me,  my  dear  Jocelyn. 
It  was  daring ;  it  was  delightfully  original. 
It  breathed,  in  a  word,  of  a  sweet  revenge  as 
well  as  of  a  novel  joy.  But  it  was  —  what 
shall  I  say?  It  was  revolutionary.  That  is 
mild.  It  was  as  though  the  steam  should 
say  to  the  kettle,  '  I  am  tired  of  this ;  I 
want  more  freedom,  —  in  a  word,  you  must 
now  get  inside,  and  be  boiled  instead  of 
me!' 

"  But  the  more  I  thought  of  it  the  more 
convinced  I  became  that  Honor  was  right. 
It  zvoidd  be  so  original,  —  so  delightful.  In 
fact  her  plan  added  to  my  idea  that  touch  of 
irresistible  chic  that  the  latest  fashion  gives 
to  a  costume. 

"  '  I  yield  —  I  yield,'  I  cried  ;  '  I  collabo- 
rate —  I  agree  —  I  coincide' —  I  do  any- 
thing that  means  you  're  a  splendid  fellow 
and  I  'm  another  ! ' 

" '  And  now,  Leonora,'  she  went  on,  with 
42 


Wives  in   Exile 

calm  triumph,  '  we  must  make  up  our  minds 
on  several  matters  before  we  write  to  Harry 
Adair  to  enlist  his  services.  First  and  fore- 
most, can  we  afford  this  little  experience? 
At  the  outside  I  can't  put  more  than;j^50  or 
£60  to  it.' 

"  I  assured  her  that  the  money-part  of 
the  business  need  cause  no  second  thought. 
I  have  enough  of  my  own  to  indulge  in  a 
yacht  for  a  whole  year  if  I  wish,  as  you 
know. 

"  *  Then,'  she  resumed,  *  there  is  the  ques- 
tion of  tonnage,  —  I  mean  as  to  what  size 
of  yacht  we  should  have,  what  crew,  what 
equipment.' 

"The  tonnage  staggered  me.  I  have 
often  been  on  a  yacht,  and  more  than  once 
a  long  cruise,  but  I  have  a  poor  head  for 
tons.  I  invariably  mix  up  tonnage  and  the 
avoirdupois  scale  of  weight,  or  else  confuse 
that  of  ocean  steamers  and  small  craft. 
Remembering  that  the  Teutonic  is  ten  thou- 
sand tons,  I  thought  I  would  be  on  the 
safe  side,  and  so  named  a  twentieth  of  her 
tonnage. 

"  Five  hundred  iofis  /'* 
43 


Wives   in   Exile 

" '  You  should  have  seen  Honor's  face. 
Consternation  and  pity  strove  for  mastery. 

" '  My  dear  Leonora,'  she  said  at  last, 
*  what  a  glorious  imagination  you  have  ! ' 

"  I  was  nettled. 

" '  Well,  Honor,  if  you  think  that  rather 
too  large  let  us  say  half  that  tonnage.' 

"  She  smiled  in  that  Sphinxian  way  of 
hers,  and  then  suggested  that  we  left  the 
matter  to  Harry  Adair  with  the  request  that 
he  should  find  us  something  over  twenty  and 
under  five  and  thirty  tons. 

"  '  Now  as  to  the  crew.' 

"  '  Let  Harry  also  manage  that.  You  or  I 
can  write  him  in  full  detail.' 

"  Well,  my  dear  Jocelyn,  to  cut  short  (at 
this  late  date)  a  long  story,  Harry  Adair 
was  written  to,  acted  promptly  like  the  good 
fellow  he  is,  and  informed  us  in  Dublin  that 
he  had  chartered  the  yacht  La  Belle  Aurore, 
the  property  of  a  gentleman  who  was  anxious 
to  sell  her  as  she  lay,  '"all  found.'  We 
could'nt  buy  her,  but  at  H's  advice  we  have 
insured  her  heavily.  Insurance  is  as  serious 
a  matter  as  making  one's  will.  It  depressed 
me  very  much  at  first,  but  when  I  realized  at 
44 


Wives   in   Exile 

last  that  I  could  trust  in  the  Insurance  Com- 
pany and  not  depend  solely  upon  Provi- 
dence, I  felt  better. 

"  While  he  has  been  searching  for  a  crew 
for  us  we  have  been  busy  having  yachting 
costumes,  &c.,  made  for  us,  as  well  as 
'  duds '  (that  is  what  Harry  calls  them)  for 
the  crew. 

"We  had  endless  arguments  about  the 
name  till  we  were  told  by  H.  A.  that  Belle 
Aurore  must  be  adhered  to  meanwhile. 

"You  should  see  the  caps.  They  are 
dears.  The  Belle  Aurore  on  each  has  every 
time  a  new  suggestiveness. 

"  To-morrow  the  yacht  is  to  arrive  in  Dub- 
lin Lough,  and  to  lie  off  Bray.  There  we 
shall  join  it.     Then  —!!!!! 

"  How  you  will  yearn  to  hear  from  me 
again !  Unfortunately,  my  dear  Jocelyn, 
you  will  have  to  practise  the  virtue  of 
patience  ! 

"  Oh,  I  do  hope  to-morrow  will  be  fine.  It 
has  been  wet  and  dismal  enough  weather  to- 
day. All  evening  the  wind  has  moaned  like 
a  banshee,  and  the  rain  has  simply  lashed 
against  the  windows.  Our  crew  will  muster 
45 


Wives   in   Exile 

to-morrow.  Of  cotirse  they  could  not  accom- 
pany the  yacht  from  Queenstovvn ;  yesterday 
—  no,  to-day  is  Friday.  Seafaring  people  are 
so  superstitious.  But  I  do  hope  they  are 
good  sailors.  Good-night,  dear  Jocelyn, 
"  Your  wearied  but  happy 

"  Leonora." 


46 


CHAPTER   III 

SATURDAY,  the  21st  of  July,  invaded 
Dublin  with  the  beauty  of  unclouded 
sunshine,  borne  in  upon  the  wave  of  a  wind- 
less calm. 

Brown  bees  hummed  about  the  windows 
of  the  Royal  Erin  Hotel,  where  the  sill-boxes 
emitted  puffs  and  little  clouds  of  fragrance 
from  clustered  mignonette,  pansies,  and  gera- 
niums touched  to  a  vivid  and  more  trans- 
parent flame.  In  circling  eddies  through  the 
house,  and  in  at  the  open  windows  of  the 
lower  floors,  titillated  the  exuberant  song 
of  the  canary  in  the  hall-office  of  the 
manageress. 

The  house-martins  that  wheeled  past 
gleamed  as  though  they  had  dyed  their  wings 
in  the  living  dawn.  The  innumerable  spar- 
rows were  as  russet  apples  turned  to  the 
afternoon  sun.  The  flies,  those  tameless  wild 
dogs   of  the   summer  air,   shot   hither   and 

47 


Wives  in  Exile 

thither  like  burnished  pellets  hurled  by  the 
roof-elves  and  the  garden-sprites. 

From  the  street  rose  a  pleasant  sound  of 
business.  The  milkman's  cry  had  a  sugges- 
tion of  sweet-breath'd  cows  trampling  the 
dewy  clover.  An  Italian  who  hawked  melon- 
slices  and  bruised  pineapples  called  his  sum- 
mons with  the  seductive  lure  of  an  evil 
spirit  waylaying  the  Peri  on  her  way  to 
Heaven's  gate.  The  burly  ruffian  who 
shouted,  "  Flowers  all  a-blowin^  ati'  a-grow- 
in'  !  "  had  kinship  with  Ariel,  so  blithe  was 
his  carol,  so  lifted  into  sweetness  was  it  by 
the  moving  airs  of  this  golden  morning. 

Fair  as  was  the  general  seeming,  there 
was  (for  intending  voyagers)  a  fairer  sight 
within  :  — 

A  part-printed,  part-written  document,  in 
a  small  oblong  frame  of  black  beading,  hung 
upon  the  wall  immediately  to  the  right  of  the 
door  giving  entrance  to  the  breakfast-room. 

Hereon  was  set  forth  :  — 

Irish  Channel  calm.    Wind  southerly,  slight.   The 
day  will  probably  remain  fine  and  warm  throughout ; 
hazy  towards    evening ;    perhaps   thunder,  locally 
along  S.  and  S.  E.  coasts. 
48 


Wives  in   Exile 

Honor  and  Leonora  were  fixt  before  this 
announcement,  with  eyes  filled  with  a  happy 
light. 

There  could  be  no  question  that  Provi- 
dence smiled  on  them,  on  their  venture.  As 
little  question  as  that  the  face  of  man,  exem- 
plified in  the  face  of  a  young  commercial 
traveller,  —  sole  male-guest  in  the  breakfast- 
room,  —  beamed  upon  these  two  fair  ladies, 
who  seemed  to  him  as  the  very  incarnation 
of  the  joy  and  beauty  of  life. 

They  were  so  hopelessly  removed  from 
him.  Everything  betrayed  this :  perhaps 
more  than  anything  else,  their  clear-eyed  joy, 
the  unconscious  arrogance  of  happiness. 

To  the  innocent  and  the  narrow-lived  is 
given  to  eat  of  the  pottage  of  the  bitterness 
of  the  things  that  are. 

The  young  bagman  made  a  poor  breakfast. 
All  the  hunger  seemed  to  have  gone  to  his  eyes. 

When  the  elderly  waiter  entered  with  the 
hot  dishes,  he  looked  with  not  less  appre- 
ciation, if  without  a  tremor  or  a  quivering 
under-thought  at,  No.  33  and  35  First  Floor. 
He  was  a  married  man  himself,  with  grown- 
up daughters,  one  of  them  wife  to  a  steward 
4  49 


Wives   in   Exile 

on  the  Holywell  line,  the  other  wed  to  a 
tailor  and  a  haberdasher  in  Dublin,  He  was 
therefore  in  a  position  to  doubly  appreciate 
these  nautically  clad  young  women  whom 
"  the  travelling  gent  "  would  as  soon  have 
thought  of  thus  prosaically  designating  as  to 
William  it  would  have  occurred  to  describe 
them  as  sea-goddesses. 

Each  was  clad  in  a  tailor-made  suit  of 
blue  serge,  with  a  white  flannel  waistcoat, 
relieved  in  the  instance  of  Leonora  by  a  blue 
tie,  in  that  of  Honor  by  one  of  cardinal  red. 
A  sailor's  straw  hat,  with  band  of  blue  in  the 
one  case,  of  red  in  the  other,  striped  with 
white,  gave  that  crowning  touch  of  sea- 
smartness  which  a  yachtsman  would  be  the 
first  to  appreciate. 

As  they  seated  themselves  at  the  little  table 
near  the  window,  they  saw  two  telegrams  and 
a  letter  awaiting  them. 

Honor  opened  the  brown  envelope  ad- 
dressed to  Mrs.  Adair. 

The  missive  ran  :  — 

The  Norway  trip  fallen  through.  Remaining  in 
London  week  or  two,  then  Scotland.  Address, 
meanwhile,  Tamesis  Hotel.  Wilfrid. 

50 


Wives   in  Exile 

The  contents  of  Mrs.  Wester's  telegram 
were  the  same,  with  the  difference  in  address  : 

Detained  in  London.  Can't  say  how  long. 
Shall  write  as  soon  as  things  arc  more  settled. 
Address,  meanwhile,  International  Club. 

Richard. 

"  Honor,"  said  Leonora,  after  perusal,  "  if 
there's  nothing  private  in  it,  may  I  see 
Wilfrid's  telegram?" 

"Certainly.     Why?" 

"  Men  do  interest  me  so  much.  Richard 
is  as  amusing  as  a  pet  monkey  when  it  tries 
to  look  supernaturally  innocent  —  Ah  !  I 
thought  so.  'As  soon  as  things  are  more 
settled.^  My  dear  Sir,  I  think  my  answering 
telegram  will  unsettle  you  a  little  bit  more, 
first." 

It  took  but  a  minute  or  so  for  each  to 
write  her  reply  on  the  forms  submitted  by 
the  attentive  William.  The  two  telegrams 
were  worded  almost  identically  :  — 

(  Leonora 

(  Honor  and  I  have  gone  to  sea  for  an  indefi- 
nite period.  Address,  meanwhile,  "  The  Yacht  Belle 
AuroreP    Ports  of  call  uncertain  if  any. 

t  Honor 
I  Leonora. 
51 


Wives  in  Exile 

With  a  sigh  of  rehef,  Leonora  leaned  back. 

*•'  Now,  Honor,  we  can  enjoy  our  break- 
fast !  " 

"  My  dear,  you  have  forgotten  the  letter 
from  Harry." 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure  I  have  !  how  stupid ! 
There  —  what  difficult  paper  to  tear  !  H'm  — 
h'm — that's  all  right  —  Ah  —  h  !  Honor,  did 
you  ever  hear  of  a  wind  snarling  ?  That 's 
the  expression  Harry  uses.  '  Even  now,' 
he  writes,  'when  the  Atirore  must  be  well 
on  her  way  to  you,  a  nasty  sou'wester  is 
snarling  round  the  headlands.  The  sea  is 
very  choppy.'  " 

"  Leonora." 

"Yes,  dear?" 

"I  wouldn't  read  any  more  of  Harry's 
reminiscences,  if  I  were  you.  He  means 
well,  no  doubt,  but  when  one  is  about  to  visit 
the  dentist  one  does  n't  rake  up  one's  recol- 
lections of  every  possible  unpleasant  experi- 
ence connected  with  such  visits." 

"  Yes  ;  but  —  but  —  snarling  /     I  do  hope 
the  wind  won't  S7iarl  to-day.     Somehow  or 
other  it 's  much  worse  than  blowing  hard,  or 
anything  of  that  kind." 
52 


Wives  in   Exile 

"  Well,  it 's  not  snarling  here,  that 's  the 
main  thing.  Does  Harry  make  all  the  rest 
clear?" 

"Absolutely;  he  has  fixt  everything,  in- 
cluding pay,  the  signing  of  the  papers,  pro- 
visioning, and  all  the  rest  of  it.  The  par- 
ticulars about  the  crew,  and  various  papers, 
he  is  sending  with  Jacob  MacMasters,  who 
with  two  men  is  bringing  the  Aurore  to 
Bray.  I  do  wish  our  crew  had  not  been  so 
foolisji,  or  —  or — pigheaded;  after  all,  the 
weather  has  become  beautiful,  and  they 
might  have  had  a  delightful  passage." 

"  What  about  the  snarling,  Nora  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  would  have  stayed  about  the 
headlands,  no  doubt.  But,  see,  I  wonder 
what  Harry  means  by  this  :  '  I  must  leave 
you,'  he  writes,  '  to  settle  for  yourselves  the 
moot  point  of  skippership.'  " 

"What  is  the  moot  point?  " 

"  That 's  just  it.  I  am  glad  you  are  in  it 
also,  Honor.  I  was  ashamed  to  admit  that 
I  don't  quite  know  what  *  moot '  is.  Of 
course  I  've  often  heard  of  *  moot  points.' 
But  I  didn't  know  it  was  a  nautical  term." 

"  But  is  it,  Nora  ?  " 
53 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Evidently.     I  —  " 

Leonora's  unfinished  sentence  was  due  to 
the  sudden  appearance  of  the  elderly  William 
by  her  side.  The  waiter  had  an  embar- 
rassed expression,  rare  to  that  smug  physi- 
ognomy which  had  deferentially  or  con- 
temptuously fronted  so  much  hotel-visiting 
humanity. 

"  What  is  it,  William  ?  " 

"  If  ye  please,  Mrs.  Wester,  ma'am,  there 's 
a  —  a  —  lady,  a  —  a  — ptisson,  I  should  say, 
who  wants  to  see  you  immediately.  She 
gives  the  name  of  Moriarty.  I  'm  bound  to 
say,  ma'am,  though  she  does  n't  look  wiolent, 
that  she  calls  herself  Capting,  —  Capting 
Moriarty  of  the  Horoar,  she  says,  bein'  a 
seafaring  man's  wife,  I  suppose." 

"  Send  her  up  at  once,  William.  We  are 
expecting  her.  But,  William  —  William  — 
come  back  a  moment !  When  you  announce 
her,  remember  to  do  so  simply  as  Mrs. 
Moriarty." 

"  Werry  good,  ma'am,  I  quite  suspects  the 
situation." 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  Leonora  looked 
at  Honor  with  a  whimsical  expression. 
54 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  The  tragi-comedy  begins,  my  dear  !  " 

"  *  Come  one,  come  all ! '  We  must  now 
take  the  bull  by  the  horns,  —  or,  as  it  would 
be  more  apt  in  the  present  circumstances  to 
say,  take  the  crew  by  the  curls  !  " 

But  here  the  door  opened,  and  with  a 
loud,  nasal,  drawling  voice  the  wontedly 
alert  William  announced  — 

"  Mrs.  Moriarty  1  " 

"  Capting  Moriarty,  I  tell  ye,  ye  ould 
astonishment,"  resounded  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"  Mrs.  Captain  Moriarty,  late  o'  the  Hoo- 
roar ! "  cried  William  in  the  high  pitched 
tone  of  a  precentor  giving  forth  "  Hark,  the 
herald  angels  sing  !  " 

"  Drop  that,  ye  ondecent  absurdity  of  a 
man.  I  'm  not  a  *  late,'  not  bein'  berried 
yit,  praise  be  to  God ;  an'  as  for  the  Ohrore 
I  'm  first  an'  earliest  an'  number  wan,  an' 
divil  take  me  if  I  '11  stand  quiet  when  a  bald 
old  spalpeen  like  you,  rigmyriggin  as  a  kind 
o'  priest  w'  your  white  necktie  o'  a  morning, 
houlds  off,  grinnin'  like  an  ape  ! " 

"  Oh,  what  a  treasure  ! "  muttered  Mrs. 
Wester  below  her  breath,  as  she  looked  with 
wondering  eyes  at  the  stout-figured,  ruddy- 

55 


Wives   in  Exile 

faced  woman  of  five  and  forty  or  so,  clad  in 
staring  blue,  with  yellow  and  green  bunches 
of  ribbon  slid  indiscriminately  through  the 
waist,  and  with  a  forlorn  stork's  nest  of  a 
bonnet  of  green  and  blue  surmounted  by  a 
flamboyant  plume  of  a  color  known  not  of 
man  nor  in  Nature.  Just  then  Mrs.  Mori- 
arty  caught  sight  of  the  two  ladies,  and 
advanced  to  their  table  dumpily  and  heavily, 
like  a  bumboat  sheering  up  to  a  big  vessel  in 
a  jumping  sea. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Wester,  ma'am  !  Mrs.  Adair, 
ma'am  !  My  respecks  to  ye  both,  and  I  'm 
Nancibel  Moriarty,  —  of  which  you  '11  have 
heard  afore  this  from  Mr.  Adair,  o'  Queens- 
town." 

"Take  a  chair,  Mrs.  Moriarty,"  said 
Honor  kindly,  seeing  that  the  flustered 
woman  was  distressed  by  heat  and  perilously 
enclamped  stoutness. 

"Thank  ye,  ma'am,  an'  I  will.  But  I 
suppose  I  'm  capting  now,  and  if  it 's  all  the 
same  to  you,  Mrs.  Adair,  ma'am,  and  to  you 
Mrs.  Wester,  ma'am,  I  'd  like  to  have  my 
rights.  There  's  them  as  would  like  to  say 
me  nay,  an'  that 's  what  I  '11  stand  from  no 
56 


Wives   in  Exile 

woman,  let  alone  a  Scotch  crayture  from 
Greenock,  who  thinks  —  " 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Moriarty,  if  you  're  to  sail  in 
the  Belle  Aurore,  you  must  set  an  example 
of  discipline." 

"  Indade  so,  Mrs.  Adair,  if  so  be  as  I  am 
right  in  not  misbenaming  ye ;  an'  of  that 
I  'm  well  aware.  O'  coorse  I  know  as  how 
you  an'  Mrs.  Wester  are  over  an'  above  me, 
captings  both,  but  you  must  have  a  capting 
under  ye,  or  leastwise  a  chafe  officer,  an'  I 
wish  to  clarely  understand,  wonst  an'  for  all, 
if  I  'm  to  be  capting,  or  lootennint  if  ye  pre- 
fer, an'  not  that  onbendin'  arrygint  Miss 
Macfee." 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Moriarty,"  began  Leonora, 
when  she  was  interrupted  by  the  reappear- 
ance of  William,  — 

"What  is  it,  William?"  she  cried,  not 
having  heard  what  he  had  just  announced. 

Clearing  his  throat,  and  opening  the  door 
so  as  to  make  way  for  a  new-comer,  he  re- 
peated his  words,  — 

"  Another  lady  to  see  you  and  Mrs.  Adair, 
ma'am.  Miss  Macfee,  likewise,  o'  the 
Booroar/'^ 

57 


Wives  in  Exile 

Honor  and  Leonora  looked  at  each  other. 
An  embarrassed  smile  fled  like  a  spent  fugi- 
tive across  either  face. 

Mrs.  Moriarty  turned.  If  the  tall,  gaunt, 
bony-featured,  grim-visaged  woman  who  had 
entered  had  looked  at  her  irate  rival  she 
might  well  have  quailed  before  the  wrath 
and  indignation  struggling  for  mastery  on 
that  honest  if  empurpled  face. 

"  Em  I  speakin'  to  the  leddies  Mrs.  Adair 
and  Mrs.  Wester?" 

The  voice  was  singularly  low  in  pitch  and 
soft  in  intonation.  One  would  expect,  from 
Miss  Macfee's  exterior,  a  rasping  or  at  least 
a  harsh  and  dissonant  utterance.  She  had  a 
Fifeshire  mien,  an  east-country  gauntness 
and  grimness ;  but  when  she  spoke  she  be- 
trayed that  she  was  of  the  West  country,  and 
that  her  breed  was  Highland. 

Leonora  leaned  across  the  table.  As  she 
did  so,  she  upset  an  egg-cup. 

"Well,  Miss  Macfee,  what  do  you  want?" 

"  I'se  be  tellin'  ye  that  in  a  minnit,  mem ; 
but  if  ye  '11  allow  me  I  '11  just  clean  up  that 
egg." 

With  an  abrupt  gesture,  she   snatched  a 

58 


Wives   in   Exile 

napkin  from  the  hand  of  William,  who  had 
approached,  and  hovered  near,  one-part  at- 
tention, three-parts  curiosity. 

Miss  Macfee  was  just  in  time.  The  egg 
had  broken ;  in  another  moment  the  yolk 
would  have  smeared  Leonora's  cuff  and 
sleeve. 

Instinctively,  Mrs.  Moriarty  knew  that  her 
rival  had  gained  a  point.  She  herself  was 
nearer  Mrs.  Wester,  nearer  the  spot  of  the 
accident ;  and  had  made  no  sign.  Readiness 
is  one  of  the  first  qualifications  of  a  skipper. 

"  Drat  that  egg,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Mrs.  Moriarty  !  " 

The  culprit  grew  more  apoplectic.  She 
looked  appealingly  at  the  two  ladies. 

"  God  knows,  ma'am,  I  meant,  no  disre- 
speck  to  the  egg  or  —  or  —  to  you,  ma'am  — 
though  if  you  '11  be  so  swate  as  to  allow  me 
to  say  so,  ma'am,  and  ladies  both,  I  think  as 
how  by  the  look  of  it,  or  what  I  saw  of  it 
before  this  woman  here  spiled  that  nate  new 
napkin  with  it,  it  would  have  been  better 
poached  ;  but  anyways,  as  I  was  saying  — " 

Honor  interrupted  with  a  smile  and  a 
gesture. 

59 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  That  will  do,  Mrs.  Moriarty.  Now,  tell 
Mrs.  Wester  and  myself,  what  you  and  Miss 
Macfee  have  come  here  for.  Why  are  you 
not  at  Bray,  on  board  the  Belle  Atirore  ?  " 

"  The  other  ladies  —  " 

"The  crew,  if  you  please,  Mrs.  Moriarty." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  to  be  sure.  As  I  was 
sayin',  the  crew  is  now  there ;  but  on  the 
way  up  from  Cork  Miss  Macfee  here  put  on 
airs  as  if  she  were  a  capting-born,  which  was 
more  than  I  could  stand,  not  from  two  sich 
women  as  her,  let  alone  my  bein'  a  widder 
an'  the  daughter  of  a  gintleman  if  ever  there 
was  one,  an'  as  well  known  in  tallow- 
chandling  as  the  Quane  among  thrones  and 
dominions." 

"  What  were  the  airs  about?  " 

"  About  bein'  capting  of  the  Bclloiuroar. 
Indade,  ma'am,  I  was  as  put  about  for  your 
sakes  as  for  my  own.  Ridicilus  thing,  says 
I  to  myself,  to  be  so  presooming  when  I,  a 
widder,  an'  —  " 

"Yes,  yes,  the  daughter  of  a  gintleman, — 

we  all  know  that,  Mrs.  Moriarty.     But  tell  us 

who  ever  gave  you  to  understand  that  either 

you  or  Miss  Macfee  was   to   be  captain  of 

60 


Wives   in   Exile 

the  Belle  Aurore?  I  'm  sure  Mr.  Adair  never 
said  anything  of  the  kind?  " 

"  It  was  'er  airs,  ma'am ;  the  way  she  set 
'erself.  Indade,  Mrs.  Wester,  ma'am,  you 
would  need  to  have  seen  with  your  own  bles- 
sed eyes  —  " 

"One  moment,  Leonora,"  whispered 
Honor,  as  she  turned  to  Miss  Macfee ; 
"  Now,  you  tell  us  what  this  is  all  about." 

*'  Least  said  soonest  mended,  mem,"  said 
the  Scotchwoman  dryly ;  "  this  woman  's  a 
puir  dementit  fule." 

A  shout  of  laughter  broke  from  both 
Honor  and  Leonora.  There  was  contagion 
in  that  blithe  music. 

A  smile,  sad  as  tribulation,  grim  as  pov- 
erty, flickered  like  a  chilly  dawn  upon  the 
barren  landscape  of  Miss  Macfee's  face. 
The  purple  glow  in  that  of  Mrs.  Moriarty 
waned.  A  quiver  went  through  the  un- 
wieldy body;  the  flaring  plume  above  the 
green-blue  atrocity  shook  like  a  reed  in  the 
wind.  The  broad  expansive  grin  that  fol- 
lowed was  like  the  rush  of  the  tide  across  a 
shallow  lagoon. 

Suddenly  a  snigger  came  from  William. 
6i 


Wives  in  Exile 

Looking  in  the  narrow  wall- mirror  to  her 
right,  Leonora  saw  that  the  young  commer- 
cial was  silently  laughing. 

There  was  an  indrawn  breath  as  if  Glee 
were  choking.  At  the  very  moment  came 
from  the  street  the  song  of  the  itinerant 
minstrel,  — 

"  Oh  who  would  sail  the  wild,  wild  sea, 
Brave  mariners  one  and  all  1 

'ners  one  —  and  —  aw-w-U-ll  I 
The  wild  see-ee-ee, 

The  lonely  see-ee-ee  I  " 

Honor  sat  back  in  her  chair.  Tears  were 
in  her  eyes ;  suffocation  in  her  throat.  She 
shook,  —  at  the  mercy  of  the  wild  folly  of 
things  in  general. 

Leonora's  case  was  scarce  better.  But  with 
an  effort  she  controlled  herself. 

*•  Oh,  how  funny !  But  Honor,  do  be 
quiet !  And  now,  Mrs.  Moriarty  and  Miss 
Macfee,  since  we  've  all  forgotten  what  we 
were  disputing  about,  don't  let  us  begin 
again.  You  two  shake  hands;  yes,  yes,  I 
insist  upon  it !  —  There  now,  that 's  right, 
though  it 's  enough  to  make  an  angel  weep 
to  see  the  way  you  do  it !  Now  I  tell  you 
62 


Wives  in  Exile 

wliat  you  'vc  got  to  do.  You  've  got  to  obey 
orders.  That 's  all.  There  are  no  command- 
ing officers  on  board  the  Belle  Aiirore  except 
Mrs.  Adair  and  myself.  We  are  the  captain. 
The  crew  consists  of  the  non-commissioned 
officers  and  three  seamen  —  " 

*'  Seawomen,"  Honor  interposed. 

"  Yes ;  three  seawomen  and  two  non-com- 
missioned officers,  respectively  the  cook  and 
the  steward.  Mrs.  Moriarty,  you  are  non- 
commissioned officer  Cook ;  Miss  Macfee, 
you  are  non-commissioned  officer  Steward." 

"  Excuse  me  one  moment,  Mrs.  Wester, 
ma'am  —  I  mean  Capting ;  but  which  is 
First  Officer,  —  me  or  Miss  Macfee?" 

Leonora  started,  perplexed.  With  nautical 
alertness  Honor  came  to  the  rescue. 

**  Mrs.  Wester  and  I  have  already  settled 
that  point.  You  are  both  first  officer.  You, 
Mrs.  Moriarty,  in  the  cuddy  and  forepart  of 
the  yacht ;  you,  Miss  Macfee,  in  the  cabin 
and  the  afterpart." 

"  And  in  the  case  o'  death,  mutiny, 
wounds,  starvation,  fire,  wisittation  o'  God, 
an'  —  " 

"  In  all  such  instances  the  joint  command 
63 


Wives  in  Exile 

will  devolve  upon  Miss  Macfee  and  yourself, 
—  that  is,  if  the  '  visitation  of  God  '  be  upon 
us  and  not  upon  you ;  in  which  latter  case 
we  undertake  to  bury  you  with  first-officer 
honors." 

This  concession  had  a  marked  effect  upon 
Mrs.  Moriarty.  She  took  on  the  pleased 
mien  of  a  diplomatist  who  had  gained  her 
point. 

"  One  word  more,  Captings  both,  if  you 
will  /lexcuse  me.  Supposin',  wich  the  Holy 
Virgin  forefend,  that  me  an'  Miss  Macfee  has 
to  take  the  command,  an'  if  she  should  be 
havin'  a  fancy  to  sail  to  Scotland  an'  I  should 
be  thinkin'  it  my  dooty  to  be  back  at  Cork, 
how  's  the  crayture  to  be  driven  to  market 
on  f/ia^  day?  " 

"  Odd  man  out,"  thus  Honor,  oracularly. 

"  What,  ma'am  —  Capting,  I  'm  manin'  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  said  odd  woman  out,"  re- 
sumed Honor,  calmly.  "  There  are  five  of 
you  all  together.  We  shall  make  Bridget 
O'Leary  second  non-commissioned  officer. 
Whoever  one  sides  with  will  have  an  acting 
majority.  That  leaves  Jane  Lanigan  and 
Mary  Murtagh,  besides  Polly  Jones,  the  cabin 
64 


Wives  in   Exile 

boy — I  mean,  girl;  Polly  doesn't  count. 
Lanigan  will  be  the  first  watch ;  Murtagh 
the  second.  Polly  will  see  to  the  striking 
of  the  bells ;  also  to  varnishing  our  shoes. 
And  now,  Mrs.  Moriarty  and  Miss  Macfee, 
be  so  good  as  to  go  on  board  as  soon 
as  you  can.  We  shall  follow  in  an  hour  or 
so.  Ah,  by  the  way,  of  course  you  under- 
stand that  there  is  to  be  no  *  mistressing  '  and 
*  missing '  on  board  the  Belle  Aurore.  Mrs. 
Wester  and  I  will  be  Captain  Wester  and 
Captain  Adair.  You  will  be  Moriarty  and 
Macfee." 

The  two  women  moved  slowly  away ;  the 
Scot  like  a  shifted  tide-pole,  the  lady  from 
Cork  in  the  manner  of  a  Dutch  sloop  in  a 
heavy  sea.     William  piloted  them. 

At  the  door  Mrs.  Moriarty  turned. 

"  Captings  dear,"  she  cried,  insinuatingly, 
"  could  n't  you  make  it  Mrs.  Moriarty  and 
Miss  Macfee,  seein'  as  how  your  honors  have 
just  agreed  to  us  as  bein'  first  orficers?  " 

"  You  have  let  yourself  in  for  it,  Honor  !  " 
Leonora  whispered,  as  she  raised  her  nap- 
kin to  hide  the  irrepressible  laughter  to  which 
she  had  begun  to  give  way  as  soon  as  the 
5  65 


Wives  in  Exile 

visitors'  backs  were  turned.  "  You  must  con- 
cede something  !  " 

"  Halt !  "  exclaimed  Honor,  in  the  tone  of 
a  martinet.  Simultaneously  she  was  con- 
scious that  she  had  used  the  wrong  word. 
She  would  have  died  rather  than  admit  her 
mistake. 

"  Halt !  "  she  repeated.  "  Mrs.  Moriarty, 
your  name  in  full,  your  Christian  name?" 

"  Florence.  That 's  my  Christian  name, 
Capting.  Me  ould  nonsensicle  fhather  bap- 
tized me  Dan'l  O'Connell  as  well ;  but  bar- 
rin'  it 's  not  bein'  a  woman's  name  at  all  at 
all,  I  don't  call  it  a  Christian  name,  an'  so 
I  'm  always  called  Florence  by  them  as  has 
the  right,  an'  Florrie  by  —  " 

"That  will  do,  please.  And  your  name, 
Miss  Macfea?  " 

"Janet." 

"  Very  good.  If  you  do  not  like  *  Mori- 
arty '  and  '  Macfee  '  we  can  call  you 
Florence  and  Janet.  Think  it  over  and  let 
us  know  when  we  come  aboard.  Good 
evening  !  William,  shut  the  door ;  there  is 
a  draught." 

When  the  door  was  closed.  Honor  and 
66 


Wives  in   Exile 

Leonora  sat  back  and  gave  way  for  a  few 
moments  to  a  burst  of  joyous  laughter. 

"  Honor,  me  darlint,  as  First  Officer  Mori- 
arty  might  say,  if  we  never  got  beyond  Dublin 
Lough,  this  experience  is  worth  all  the 
thought  and  trouble  we  have  had  !  What  a. 
couple  of  women  !  The  fair  and  corpulent 
Florrie,  the  thin  and  grim  Janet !  And  oh, 
that  excruciating  dress  in  the  latest  Cork 
wharfside  fashion,  that  awful,  awful  bonnet !  " 

"  Was  n't  it  fascinating,  Nora  ?  —  horribly, 
wildly  fascinating?  Never  have  I  seen 
such  an  atrocity  before,  never  can  I  hope 
(and  indeed  I  don't !)  to  see  its  like 
again  ! " 

Something  in  Honor's  manner  attracted 
her  companion's  closer  attention.  She  was 
less  reserved  than  the  occasion  warranted. 
There  was  in  her  mien  the  look  of  a  beauti- 
ful mare  when  she  knows  she  is  admired  and 
is  about  to  be  caressed.  A  glance  at  the 
mirror  at  her  side  explained  all.  Therein 
she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  young  commer- 
cial traveller,  eating  with  his  knife,  it  is  true, 
but  with  his  eyes  fixed  in  a  hungry  wistful 
stare  upon  the  beauty  of  Honor.  A  living 
67 


Wives  in  Exile 

admiration  filled  his  eyes,  the  unmistakable 
reflection  of  his  thoughts. 

In  the  same  glass  Honor  had  made  the 
like  discovery.  Leonora  looked  mischiev- 
ously at  her  friend.  Then,  leaning  forward, 
she  recited  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Kinds  hearts  are  more  than  coronets, 
And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood  I  " 

Honor  looked  at  her.  Amazement  was  in 
her  gaze.  Then,  as  she  divined  Leonora's 
malicious  smile,  and  caught  the  rapid  flirt  of 
her  glance  towards  the  admiring  phantom- 
youth  in  the  mirror,  the  lovely  dark  eyes 
took  on  a  violet  dusk.  Her  faint  wild-rose 
bloom  deepened  into  a  fugitive  flush. 

With  an  abrupt  gesture  she  rose,  and 
dropped  her  napkin  on  her  plate.  Mrs. 
Wester  rose  also;  calmly  folded  and  ringed 
her  napkin ;  glanced  amusedly  at  her  friend  ; 
and,  with  a  slight  inclination  as  she  passed 
the  suffering  male,  went  towards  the  door, 
opened  it,  and  disappeared. 

Honor  moved  to  the  window.  The  view 
was  enticing,  no  doubt.  The  way  of  the 
wind  was  studiously  observed  by  her.  She 
68 


Wives  in  Exile 

watched  the  flirtations  of  the  sparrows.  A 
brown  bee,  flying  idly  by  to  a  window-box 
as  yet  unrifled,  sang  a  woodland  song.  The 
lyric  note  was  abroad. 

With  a  sigh  she  half-turned,  but  changed 
her  mind.  The  bee  had  lost  itself  among 
the  mignonette  on  the  neighboring  sill ;  the 
sparrows  had  flown  high  and  low,  love's 
young  dream  already  dissipated.  She  was 
not  thinking  of  either.  She  was  unfastening 
the  cream-hued  tea-rose  she  wore  at  her 
neck. 

What  was  Leonora  doing,  she  wondered ; 
a  conscious  wonderment.  Suddenly  she 
turned.  With  a  well-feigned  start  of  sur- 
prise she  betrayed  her  astonishment  at  the 
unexpected  absence  of  her  friend.  She 
walked  rapidly  past  the  table,  her  eyes  intent 
upon  the  door,  ajar  but  Williamless.  The 
young  man  who  had  worshipped  her  across 
his  ham  and  eggs,  who  had  for  her  forgotten 
time,  commissions,  distractions  innumerable, 
half  rose,  flushed  awkwardly,  bowed  more 
awkwardly  still.  It  was  one  of  the  moments 
of  his  life.  Honor  did  not  know  it,  or  she 
would  have  vouchsafed  him  more  than  the 
69 


Wives  in  Exile 

glance  she  shot  at  him  for  the  flying  fraction 
of  a  second.  Still  less  did  he  know  it.  If 
he  had,  he  would  probably  have  sat  still  and 
gasped.  Thus  jocundly  go  the  high  emo- 
tions, oftener  than  not  contrary  to  all  novel- 
istic  procedure  and  convention. 

In  this  fashion  Mrs.  Adair  disappeared, 
from  that  room  for  good  no  doubt,  from  that 
gaze  forever.  She  left  behind  her  a  death- 
less memory,  and  a  perishable  cream-white 
tea-rose. 


70 


CHAPTER   IV 

WHEN  Mrs.  Wester  and  Mrs.  Adair 
stepped  from  the  car  at  Bray,  and 
found  themselves  in  sight  of  the  sea,  they 
stared  inland. 

They  had  been  admired  on  the  tram-car. 
Possibly,  too,  some  rumor  of  their  novel 
adventure  had  got  abroad.  The  conductor 
had  whispered  to  the  middle-aged  marine 
gentleman  with  a  straw  hat,  a  white  waist- 
coat, tan  shoes,  beady  eyes,  and  a  fleshy 
nose.  He  had  smirked.  If  the  information 
had  been  a  word  of  admiration  only  for 
those  two  spruce  and  most  winsomely  nauti- 
cal young  women,  he  would,  as  both  ladies 
instinctively  and  indignantly  divined,  have 
ogled.  His  smirk  meant  amusement.  What 
could  this  summer-resort  limpet  be  amused 
at  were  it  not  by  the  idea  of  a  cruise  of  fair 
women,  conducted  on  the  lines  of  the  most 
pronounced  sexual  independence? 


Wives  in  Exile 

He,  in  his  turn,  had  winked  to  a  pale 
youth  sitting  opposite  to  him.  Thenceforth 
two  gooseberry-eyes  had  dwelt  waterily  now 
upon  Mrs.  Adair  now  upon  Mrs.  Wester. 

Further,  he  of  the  beady  eyes  and  oiled 
locks  had  audibly  confided  somewhat  to  his 
neighbor,  a  horsey  man  with  an  enormous 
skull  scarf-pin,  a  checkered  blue  and  buff 
waistcoat,  pelican  legs,  a  small  round  billy- 
cock tipped  sideways,  a  face  mottled  like  a 
boiling  lobster  and  veined  protuberantly,  and 
with  shifty  eyes  that  rarely  surmounted  the 
bridge  of  his  nose.  Leonora  had  overheard 
certain  words  :  *'  that  yacht,"  "  girls,"  "  rum 
uns,"  and  "  devilish  queer  lot." 

A  hint  to  Honor,  half  glance  half  oral,  had 
been  enough,  as  the  car  reached  its  terminus. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  two  ladies  had  turned 
their  eyes  away  from  the  sea.  Thirty  yards 
beyond  them,  on  an  islet  between  the  straits 
of  West  Road  and  Little  West  Road,  stood 
the  aristocratic,  exclusive,  expensive,  and 
generally  delectable  private  hotel  known  as 
Londonderry  Mansion. 

An  idea  flashed  across  Leonora's  mind. 

"  Come,  Honor,"  she  said,  in  the  distinct 
72 


I 


Wives  in  Exile 

tone  she  generally  reserved  for  the  close  of 
arguments  with  Mr.  Wester;  "we'll  have 
early  luncheon  at  the  Londonderry,  and  then 
go  for  our  walk  afterwards." 

The  ruse  was  successful.  The  loafers  who 
had  strolled  up,  the  marine-limpet,  the 
watery-eyed  youth,  the  shifty  bookmaker,  one 
and  all  dispersed.  No,  said  the  manageress 
of  the  Londonderry,  a  few  minutes  later,  she 
had  received  no  word  from  either  a  Mrs. 
Adair  or  a  Mrs.  Wester.  "  Very  likely,"  she 
added,   "they  will  be    here   this   evening." 

"  Possibly,"  Leonora  remarked  ;  "  if  so, 
we  '11  be  sure  to  call  again.  Good  morn- 
ing." 

The  way  was  clear.  A  couple  of  hundred 
yards  distant  a  small  boat  glided  upon  the 
beach.  A  dozen  interested  spectators  clus- 
tered about  its  bows.  As  Honor  and  Leo- 
nora drew  near  they  noted  that  this  unneces- 
sary gathering  was  augmented  by  a  thirteenth 
individual.  The  limpet  was  true  to  his 
instinct. 

Both  adventurers  caught  their  breath. 
Moral  courage,  or  the  lack  of  it,  causes  more 
perturbation  to  some  people  than  the  advent 
73 


Wives  in  Exile 

of  a  bull  on  a  lonely  road  does  to  others. 
Those,  however,  who  suffer  from  moral  cour- 
age generally  disguise  it ;  often  so  effectively 
that  it  is  never  made  evident. 

The  two  ladies  became  absorbed  in  the 
beauty  of  the  sea.  Each  stopped,  entranced. 
Honor  raised  an  arm,  and  pointed  vaguely 
ocean-ward.  "  Yes,"  said  Leonora  ner- 
vously, looking  in  the  opposite  direction; 
"  it  is  beautiful,  beautiful." 

There  was  a  slight  commotion  in  the 
group  about  the  small  boat.  Honor  saw  this 
out  of  the  corner  of  an  eye. 

"  Nora,  what  shall  we  do  ?  We  can't  stand 
here  in  this  ridiculous  fashion  looking  at 
nothing  as  though  we  had  never  seen  it 
before  !  Besides,  there  are  at  least  half  a 
dozen  boatmen  who  have  espied  us,  and  are 
bearing  down  upon  us  like  crabs." 

Mrs.  Wester  hesitated  ;  but  at  that  moment 
a  laugh  decided  them.  It  stung  them  into 
quiet  self-possession. 

The  spilt  noise  —  for  to  speak  of  so  coarse 

and  raucous  an  outbreak  as  laughter  would 

be  to  flatter  —  came  from  the  human  limpet. 

Strange  that  so  alien  a  sound  should  cause  a 

74 


Wives  in  Exile 

light  as  of  blue  steel  in  the  eyes  of  two  blithe 
young  women. 

As  they  turned  and  walked  towards  the 
boat,  the  man  advanced.  He  raised  his 
hat  with  a  jerk.  Leonora  noticed  that  he 
gripped  the  brim  so  tightly  that  the  straw 
bent.  For  all  his  audacity,  then,  he  was 
nervous. 

"Ladies,"  began  this  male,  smirking  — 

"Thank  you,"  Honor  interrupted,  in  a 
voice  which  fell  as  against  a  frosty  air,  so  chill 
was  it ;  "  we  have  no  need  of  your  services." 

"Services,  Miss?  Ma'am,  I  should  say, 
perhaps  ?  I  am  a  gentleman,  and  don't  want 
to  serve  you  or  any  one,  —  that  is,  you  know, 
in  the  way  you  mean.  Or  perhaps  you  don't 
mean  that,  but  —  oh,  I  see  !  Forgive  me. 
Miss  —  Ma'am  —  But  please  allow  me  to 
give  you  a  few  tips.  Live  down  here. 
Well  known.  Great  boating  man.  Doubt 
if  that  yawl  out  there  is  in  proper  trim.  Go 
over  there  with  you  if  you  like.  No  intru- 
sion, ladies.  Glad  to  do  anything  for  a 
glance  from  lovely  eyes —  eh  ?  ah  ?  " 

"Will  you  be  good  enough,  sir,  to  mind 
your  own  business?" 
75 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Ah,  married ;  I  thought  so.  I  know  the 
tone  of  voice.  But  see  here  —  "  The  man 
had  not  much  experience  of  women,  or 
rather  he  judged  all  women  by  the  females 
of  his  species. 

The  quiet  look  in  the  eyes,  the  slight  curl 
of  contempt  in  the  lips,  of  Mrs.  Adair  and 
her  companion,  actually  impressed  him.  He 
stood  back,  momentarily  shamefaced.  When 
he  saw  the  grin  on  the  face  of  the  idlers  by 
the  boat,  he  scowled. 

Virtuous  indignation  is  often  lit  by  the 
match  of  another's  discomfiture.  When  the 
gaily-bedaubed  offence  began  with,  "  Well, 
you  need  not  be  so  'aughty  ;  I  know  girls  as 
good  as  you  who  — "  an  elderly  mariner 
stepped  forward,  and  in  a  voice  husky  with 
emotion  and  gin  told  him  not  to  annoy  the 
purty  young  ladies  who  might  surely  go  out 
for  a  sail  without  bein'  badgered  by  the 
likes  o'  him. 

The  mariner  was  tall  and  wiry,  but  the 
interloper  saw  his  opportunity  in  the  obfus- 
cation  of  gin.  A  duel  of  words  of  the  mud 
and  debris  of  language,  if  not  actually  a  con- 
flict of  blows,  seemed  imminent. 
76 


Wives   in   Exile 

The  creature  took  a  step  back,  the  better 
to  spit  its  venom.  Alas,  one  of  those  jaunty 
spat-bedecked  feet  caught  in  a  slit  in  a  rock. 
There  was  a  stagger  upon  the  slimy  sea-moss ; 
a  cry ;  a  coarse  oath ;  a  fallen  straw-hat  in  a 
pool  of  anemones  which  hailed  a  mighty 
brother :  and  then  a  heavy  recumbent  figure 
that  slid,  that  wriggled,  that  half  rose  and 
fell  prostrate  again,  till  it  found  itself  in  that 
tepid  shallow  bath  wherein  the  straw- hat 
already  lay  submerged,  bappy  with  the  ooze. 

Long  before  the  sputterings  on  the  one 
hand  and  the  loud  and  unrestrained  jubila- 
tion on  the  other  were  over,  Honor  and 
Leonora  were  by  the  dingey,  almost  un- 
noticed. 

In  the  small  boat  they  descried  two  jaunty 
figures :  females  both,  and  stout ;  but  glo- 
rious as  the  Stars  and  Stripes  on  Indepen- 
dence Day,  for  each  was  raimented  in  an 
immense  jersey  of  red,  striped  with  white, 
while  on  each  ample  bosom  suspended  an 
azure  star.  A  white  straw  hat  with  scarlet 
band,  and  with  blue  star  in  the  forefront, 
completed  the  marine  nattiness  of  each 
nereid. 

77 


Wives  in   Exile 

"  Harry  Adair  has  let  his  imagination  run 
riot,"  Mrs.  Wester  murmured  as  she  moved 
steadily  forward,  nodded  with  the  ease  of 
one  accustomed  to  the  high  seas  and  pirati- 
cal costumes,  and  laid  hand  upon  the  bows  of 
the  boat.  The  tide  was  full  and  the  dingey 
was  off  keel.  The  punt  nosed  the  pebbly 
slope  like  a  terrier,  but  her  stern  swung  clear. 

The  two  seawomen  saluted.  The  cere- 
mony was  less  impressive  than  it  was  meant 
to  be,  for  the  upswung  oars  met  midway 
with  a  clash.  They  came  down  waveringly, 
amidst  muttered  objurgations.  Fortunately, 
further  reprisals  were  postponed. 

Leonora's  presence  of  mind  did  not  desert 
her.  With  a  glance  at  Honor  she  remarked, 
loudly  enough  to  be  overheard  :  — 

"  That  is  our  American  fashion.  It  is 
different  from  yours,  I  think  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Honor,  with  smiUng  mal- 
ice, "oars  are  expensive  with  us." 

Mrs.  Wester's  point  was  not  lost  upon  the 
two  members  of  the  Belle  Ajirore^s  crew. 
They  smiled  sympathetically.  The  rapport 
was  established  :  each  felt  to  the  other  as  a 
woman  and  a  sister. 

78 


Wives  in   Exile 

The  two  ladies  stepped  lightly  into  the 
dingey.  When  they  had  seated  themselves, 
the  boat  now,  hke  a  typical  Hibernian  beauty, 
with  a  nez  retrousse,  bobbed  blithely  from  the 
shore.  A  scattered  cheer  came  from  the  on- 
lookers. A  tiny  girlet,  wading  naked  to  where 
her  white  dress  was  humped  above  her  sun- 
browned  little  stomach,  making  her  seem  like 
a  froth-crowned  pot  of  ale,  shrieked  excitedly. 

"  What  on  earth  is  that  child  yelling 
about?  "  Mrs.  Wester  asked  anxiously,  fears 
of  ferocious  lobsters  and  imprisoned  infan- 
tile toes  perturbing  her  mind, 

"  Och,  't  is  only  bekas'  your  sleeve 's 
thrailin'  in  the  wather,  Mr.  Capting,  mum  !  " 

The  explanation  came  from  "  stroke." 

Leonora  rescued  the  extreme  of  her 
sleeve ;  then,  looking  at  the  late  speaker, 
asked  her  her  name. 

"  Bridget  O'Leary,  if  ye  plase,  mum  — 
Capting,  I  mane." 

"And  you?" 

This  to  the  other,  who  in  her  mingled 
excitement  and  interest  had  forgotten  to 
keep  time  with  "  Stroke." 

"  Mary  Murtagh  !  " 

79 


Wives  in   Exile 

The  words  were  propelled  as  by  blasting 
powder.  Heat  and  exertion  already  threat- 
ened the  fair,  blue-eyed,  moon-faced  Mary. 
Bridget  was  small  and  dark,  but  rotund  also, 
and  as  she  moved  to  and  fro  with  her  oar,  her 
beady  black  eyes  fixed  upon  her  "capting's," 
her  bosom  swoln  with  pride  and  tight-lacing 
so  that  the  ruddy  jersey  was  drawn  to  its  ex- 
treme of  tautness,  she  seemed  like  a  gigantic 
robin-redbreast. 

"Well,  Bridget,  and  you,  Mary,  this  is 
Mrs.  Adair,  and  I  am  Mrs.  Wester.  Captain 
Adair  and  Captain  Wester,  you  know.  I 
hope  we  '11  all  get  on  well  together." 

"  May  I  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  a  question, 
Capting?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  Mr.  Macmasters  comin'  wid  us?  " 

"  Mr.  Macmasters  ?  Ah,  to  be  sure,  Jacob 
Macmasters.     No,  Bridget,  certainly  not." 

Robin-Redbreast  sighed. 

Honor  saw  disappointment.  She  re- 
minded Miss  O'Leary  of  the  Female  Con- 
stitution which  they  were  there  to  uphold. 

"  And  why  are  you  disappointed  ?  "  she 
added. 

80 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  I  ask  your  parding,  Captings  both.  I 
was  thinkin'  o'  the  childher,  little  Pathrick 
an'  little  Phclim.  Pore  things,  if  they  sud 
be  left  ahlone  in  the  world  an'  them  twins 
too,  worse  luck,  though  by  the  grace  o' 
God  ! " 

"  Patrick  and  Phelim  ?  Who  are  Pat- 
rick and  Phelim?" 

"  They  're  the  twins,  Capting  Adair." 

"Whose  twins?" 

"Faith,  an'  they're  mine:  and  both  as 
purty  an'  — " 

"Yours?" 

"  Shure.     I  ~  " 

"  Bridget  O'Leary,  you  are  entered  on  the 
—  on  the  —  in  the  Be//e  Aurore's  books  as 
Miss  O'Leary?" 

"  Well,  Capting,  it 's  thrue  an'  it 's  not 
thrue." 

In  her  eagerness  to  explain.  Miss  O'Leary 
ceased  rowing,  and  leaned  forward.  Miss 
Murtagh,  embarrassed  under  Leonora's  eye 
and  a  consciousness  of  impending  doom, 
made  up  for  the  lapse  by  a  feverish  energy. 
The  dingey  lurched  and  swung  round. 

Mrs.  Wester  and  Mrs.  Adair  faced  the  shore 
6  Si 


Wives  in  Exile 

again.  Neither  had  time  to  exclaim  before 
the  bows  surged  towards  England.  A  swirl, 
and  the  Belle  Aurore  again  confronted 
them. 

"  Stop,  woman  !  Stop,  Mary  Murtagh," 
cried  the  two  skippers  simultaneously ;  Mrs. 
Wester  adding  severely,  "  Do  you  think  we 
want  to  be  drowned  in  a  spinning-top  ?  " 

"And  now,  Bridget  O'Leary,  explain," 
resumed  Honor. 

"  Well,  ma  'am,  —  Captings,  I  mane,  —  I'm 
not  exactly  a  miss,  Pathrick  an'  Phelim  bein' 
my  twin  bhoys,  an'  the  handsomest  pair 
your  honours  ever  saw  though  it's  I  as  says 
it.  An'  as  to  my  not  bein'  Mrs.  instead  of 
Miss,  well  Capting  Adair,  mum,  an'  Capting 
Wester,  I  've  'ad  my  misfhortin'  like  manny 
another  pore  woman." 

"  You  are  not  married,  and  yet  you  have 
twins,  O'Leary?" 

"  'T  is  thrue.  I  'm  not  denyin'  it.  Cork  's 
a  bad  place,  though  it 's  I  as  says  it,  an' 
Cork-born  an'  Cork-bred  at  that." 

Honor  looked  at  Leonora,  who  looked  at 
Mary  Murtagh,  who  looked  in  settled  dismay 
at  the  nearest  thole-pin. 
82 


Wives  in   Exile 

Mrs.  Wester  saw  the  need  of  balm. 

"  Well,  Bridget,  we  are  very  sorry  to  hear 
this.     Is  —  eh — is  Mr.  O'Leary  —  " 

"His  name  's  Denis  O'Flaherty,  an'  he's 
in  Chiney  now,  worse  luck." 

"  Is  he  likely  to  marry  you  when  he  comes 
back?" 

"  He  's  sworn  it  by  all  the  saints.  Bless 
the  bhoy,  —  an'  a  third  steward  he  is  aboard 
the  Cawnpore  —  he  wrote  me  from  some 
haythen  port  to  say  that  if  it  was  a  bhoy,  an' 
I  christened  it  Denis,  he  'd  not  be  mane 
enough  to  hould  back  the  Flaherty  from  the 
spalpeen's  name." 

"  But  —  but  —  " 

"To  be  shure,  Capting.  I  know  what 
your  honour 's  after  sayin'.  But  you  see  I 
wasn't  to  know  there  wud  be  two  on  them. 
An'  when  I  saw  them  both  I  cud  a'  cried 
my  eyes  out  for  bein'  so  onsartain  as  to 
what  to  do.  Bein'  twins  I  cud  n't  call  one  o' 
the  childher  Denis,  for  'twould  be  moighty 
onfair  to  the  other.  Mebbe  Mr.  O'Flaherty 
would  n't  acknowledge  him ,  an'  I  cud  n't 
bhear  to  part  them.  He  said  '  a  bhoy  an' 
to  be  called  Denis ; '  an'  shure  I  know  him 
83 


Wives  in  Exile 

well  enough  to  see  how  he  'd  look  if  I  told 
him  there  was  two  in  the  same  poke.  '  One 
bhoy,  an'  Denis  at  that/  he  would  say ;  '  a 
bargain 's  a  bargain,  an'  I  'm  ofif.  I  '11  take 
wan,  an'  you  with  him,  but  no  Christing  man 
ever  'ad  two  sons  passed  on  him  under  wan 
name.'  An'  that 's  how  it  is,  Captings  dear. 
An'  so  as  Pathrick  's  his  father's  name,  an' 
Phelim  that  o'  the  friend  that  first  brought 
us  together  (an'  a  jealous  man  Denis  was  till 
Phelim  went  as  a  stoker  on  the  Buffalo,  in 
the  Phillydelfy  line),  I  thought  I  'd  hould  over 
the  name  o'  Denis  till  the  next  toime,  —  an' 
please  God  may  it  be  a  bhoy,  for  gurls  —  " 

"That  will  do,  Bridget." 

A  sob  came  from  the  oarswoman.  The 
brine  in  the  sea  was  increased  by  a  few  drops 
that  rolled  from  rubicund  cheeks. 

Silence  prevailed  in  the  stern  sheets. 

"  'Tis  a  misfhortin,  Capting  Wester  an' 
Capting  Adair ;  't  is  a  misfhortin,  an'  I  'm 
not  denying  of  it.  It  comes  when  least  ex- 
pected an'  least  wanted,  like  measles  or 
croup  wi'  childher.  We  pore  women  has  a 
lot  to  bear.  Mary  Murtagh  herself  '11  be 
tellin'  as  you  —  " 

84 


Wives  in  Exile 

"What!  not  you  too,  Mary?"  Leonora 
cried  in  alarm. 

"No  —  no  —  ma'am — Captings  !  "  Miss 
O'Leary  interjected,  "  I  'm  not  manin'  that 
Mary  has  twins,  nor  even  the  half  o'  that 
number ;  though  for  shure  atween  her  an' 
me  an'  the  north  wind,  to  say  nothing  at  all 
o'  Mr.  Ned  Sullivan  o'  the  Customs,  I  —  " 

An  abrupt  thrust  in  the  back  deprived 
O'Leary  of  the  wind  that  upbore  her  elo- 
quence. An  altercation  loomed.  Mrs.  Adair 
took  prompt  action,  and  the  situation  was 
saved. 

"  Row  on  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  IMurtagh, 
you  row  the  harder,  the  tide  is  against  you. 
Now  then,  time,  keep  time." 

Once  more  the  dingey  sped  on  its  bob- 
bing way.  In  a  few  minutes  it  was  alongside 
the  trim,  cleanly-built,  swan- buoyant  yacht, 
whose  shape  and  air  of  rakish  distinction 
had  delighted  the  eyes  of  the  two  friends 
who  had  chartered  her  for  their  cruise. 

The  Atirore  lay  upon  the  water  with  that 

air  of  delicate  pleasure  which  all  well-built 

and  well-kept  yachts  have.     She  was  a  yawl 

of  about  thirty  tons.     Her  lines  had  a  long, 

85 


Wives  in  Exile 

unbroken  sweep,  which  made  her  seem 
lower  in  the  water  than  she  was.  Black,  but 
for  a  rim  of  gold,  she  was  like  a  huge  bird 
winged  for  flight,  but  still  afloat. 

Both  Honor  and  Leonora  knew  enough  of 
yachts  and  yachting  to  appreciate  not  only 
the  beauty  but  the  admirable  trim  of  the 
vessel,  which  they  scrutinized  with  growing 
gratification  and  pleasure  as  they  drew  near. 
The  half-furled  mainsail  was  white,  but  with 
the  true  whiteness  of  foam,  and  not  of  mill- 
dust.  The  yards  and  spars  were  clean. 
With  nothing,  from  anchor-tip  to  helm, 
could  fault  have  been  found. 

They  swung  up  to  the  port  side,  where 
the  gangway  was  suspended.  There,  Jacob 
Macmasters,  a  short,  elderly  man,  with  an 
Ibsenitish  volume  of  outbrushed  hair,  where- 
in beard  and  whisker  and  the  upper  jungle 
combined  in  one  tangled  ash-gray  wilder- 
ness, awaited  them,  hat  in  hand.  Mrs. 
Wester  was  the  first  to  rise.  Mary  and 
Bridget  were  not  adepts  with  the  oars,  and 
they  forgot  to  aUow  for  the  wash  between 
the  dingey  and  the  yacht.  The  result  was 
that  Leonora  was  put  to  the  rack.  She  had 
86 


Wives  in  Exile 

grasped  the  rope-gangway,  and  had  clung 
desperately  to  it  as  the  boat  drifted  back. 
In  a  second  or  two  she  knew  that  either  she 
would  have  to  let  go,  and  fall  head-foremost 
into  the  sea,  or  cling  on  and  find  herself  to 
her  waist  atrail  in  the  water. 

The  elderly  Jacob  came  to  the  rescue. 
Even  in  that  crucial  moment  she  noticed 
that  he  did  not  smile.  She  was  grateful. 
It  flashed  across  her  mind  that  a  noble  grav- 
ity differentiates  man  from  woman. 

He  grasped  her  by  the  wrists.  Half  lift- 
ing, half  pulling,  he  served  two  ends;  for 
her  feet  had  caught  in  the  gunwale,  and  as 
Jacob  Macmasters  drew  her  backward  the 
dingey  followed  till  it  bobbed  against  the 
side  once  more. 

A  minute  later  Leonora  was  on  deck,  gasp- 
ing, racked,  indignant,  confused,  stricken 
with  unlaughed  laughter,  and,  above  all,  con- 
scious of  garments  twisted,  necktie  awry,  the 
dainty  straw-hat  rakishly  lop-sided. 


87 


CHAPTER  V 

MORNIN',  mum." 
"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Macmasters." 

Already  the  ordeal  was  over.  Discipline 
had  triumphed.  Jacob  Macmasters,  still  hat 
in  hand,  stood  smileless ;  smileless,  a  yard 
or  so  away,  First-Ofificer  Moriarty  and  First- 
Officer  Macfee  ;  smileless,  the  third  A.  B. 
in  the  crew,  Jane  Lanigan,  a  strapping  lass 
of  twenty,  with  red  hair,  a  starry  profusion 
of  freckles,  and  a  cast  in  the  eyes  that  made 
each  optic  seem  wildly  ogling  the  other. 
Only  a  very  small  and  young  smile  hovered 
about  the  round  face  of  Polly  Jones,  the 
cabin-girl.  The  child  had  something  of  the 
appearance  and  much  of  the  stolidity  of 
the  average  suet-dumpling.  Small  and  frail 
as  this  sole  smile  was,  it  flattened  gradually 
into  the  inane  whence  it  came. 

As   soon   as  Honor  had  joined  Leonora, 
Murtagh  and  O'Leary  were  about  to  follow. 
Macmasters,  however,  bade  them  wait. 
88 


Wives   in   Exile 

"  A  happy  voyage  to  you,  mum ;  and  to 
you,  mum,  likewise," 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Macmasters.  This  lady 
is  Mrs,  Adair.  I  am  Mrs.  Wester.  We  are 
sorry  you  are  not  to  accompany  us,  but 
Mr.  Harry  Adair  will  already  have  told  you 
about  our  plan." 

"  Yes,  mum." 

"  Perhaps  you  could  stay  for  an  hour  and 
give  us  some  hints?  " 

"  Sorry,  mum,  but  I  Ve  got  to  be  in  Dublin 
before  two  o'clock.  Goin'  back  to  Cork  in 
the  '  Arp  o'  Hearin'," 

"  In  the  —  ah,  yes,  to  be  sure.  Well,  we 
thank  you  for  bringing  the  Belle  Aurore 
round  so  promptly." 

"Bless  your  'art,  mum,  she  corned  herself; 
she  's  the  devil  to  go.  She  up  skirts,  dan- 
gles her  ankles,  and  afore  you  knows  were 
she  is  she's  dancing  a  jig  a  mile  away." 

"  Re-a-ally,"  remarked  Leonora,  vaguely, 
to  whom  the  answer  had  been  directed. 
"  How  interesting  !  But  I  hope  she 's  —  eh  — 
ah — easy  to  manage?  " 

"Ay,  ay,  mum,  easy  enough  in  fair 
weather." 

89 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  But  in  bad  weather?  " 

An  ominous  silence  followed,  Jacob  Mac- 
masters  wiped  his  mouth  with  his  sleeve,  as 
though  removing  the  invisible  froth  of  imagi- 
nary beer.  Honor  thought  Leonora  a  poor 
tactician.  With  a  smile  she  said  that  they 
were  both  too  good  sailors  and  too  much 
accustomed  to  yachting  to  mind  bad  weather  : 
in  fact  they  rather  liked  it.  Only,  if  Mr. 
Macmasters  thought  the  Belle  Aurore  was  not 
easily  manageable  with  a  high  sea  running, 
it  would  be  as  well  if  he  were  to  specify  her 
several  virtues  and  vices. 

"  Keep  your  heye  on  her,  mum.  When 
the  sea  jumps  she  jumps.  She  's  a  one-er  to 
jump." 

"Does  she  roll?" 

"  Well,  she  can  roll.  I  don't  know  as  I 
was  ever  in  a  wessel  that  rolled  so  much,  — 
for  her  size,  I'  m  meaning.  I  've  seen  her  roll 
so  that  —  "     But  here  Leonora  interrupted. 

"  Mr.  Macmasters,  you  know  the  signs  of 
the  weather.  What  kind  of  evening  are  we 
going  to  have?  " 

"  Baddish,  I  'm  fearin'.  Indeed,  I  ain't 
just  sure  —  " 

90 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Ah,  quite  so.  Now  you  see,  Mr.  Mac- 
masters,  the  glass  is  good,  the  sky  is  clear, 
the  water  is  just  as  blue  and  white  as  good 
sea-water  should  be.  Don't  you  think  you 
are  croaking  a  little  ?  " 

Mr.  Macmasters  stared  meditatively.  Then 
he  looked  from  Leonora  to  Honor,  and  from 
Honor  to  First- Ofificers  Moriarty  and  Mac- 
fee,  and  from  them  to  Polly  Jones.  There- 
after his  slow  gaze  embraced  the  rigging, 
drowsed  upon  the  cabin-hatch,  slept  upon 
the  wheel. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Macmasters?  " 

The  mariner  turned.  There  was  that  in 
his  eye  which  hinted  explosion.  Explosion 
it  was  :  laughter,  —  deep,  gurgling,  asth- 
matic, rum-hoarsened,  genuine  laughter. 

"  Hexcuse  me,  Mrs.  Wester,  mum  !  Hex- 
cuse  me,  Mrs.  Adair,  mum  !  "  he  stuttered. 
"  I  'm  took  that  way  sometimes.  It 's  the 
salt  o'  the  sea  as  does  it,  —  the  salt  o'  the 
sea  by  night,  when  the  rheum  's  about,  an' 
there  ain't  no  way  out  of  it." 

A  polar  breath  was  in  Honor's  voice  as 
she  spoke  :  — 

"  We  shall  not  detain  you  longer,  Mr. 
91 


Wives  in   Exile 

Macmasters.  And  —  ah,  Macmasters,  I  hope 
the  Harp  of  Erin  will  have  a  good  passage, 
for  I  fancy  you  are  rather  unaccustomed  to 
rough   weather   at    sea.     Good- day  !  " 

The  dart  pierced  a  thickish  hide.  The 
crew  grinned.  With  difficult  dignity  the 
late  captain  nodded  farewell.  On  the  face 
of  First-Officer  Macfee  there  was  a  frosty 
smile.  It  aggravated  him.  As  he  disap- 
peared over  the  side  of  the  yacht,  to  the 
alarm  of  Murtagh  and  O'Leary,  who  had 
been  indulging  in  a  lively  argument  anent  the 
recent  revelations  as  to  the  twins,  he  turned. 

"  Man,  Macfee,"  he  said  confidentially, 
"  it 's  no  your  beauty  that  you  're  paid  for  !  " 

First-Officer  Moriarty,  forgetful  of  disci- 
pline, laughed.  Seeing  the  frowning  reproof 
on  the  face  of  each  of  her  captains,  she 
repented,  and  cried  imperatively,  "  Order ! 
Order,  there  "  ! 

With  that  Mr.  Macmasters  was  all  but 
gone.  Doubtless  he  thought  he  had  planted 
his  arrow,  and  could  go  in  peace.  But  then 
yachts  may  have  unexpected  furniture,  and 
Parthian  shafts  were  here. 

Walking  to  the  taffrail,  Miss  Macfee  called 
92 


I 


Wives  in   Exile 

to  the  seawomen  :  "  Tak  tent  how  you  row 
there  !  Nae  splashin'  !  Hae  a  care  o'  Jacob, 
puir  wee  man  !  " 

Harmony  was  restored  on  the  Belle  Au- 
rore.  Obviously,  captains  and  officers  had 
resource.  With  resource,  —  well,  the  world 
should  note  how  successfully  wives  at  sea 
could  dispense  with  their  adjuncts  ! 

"  And  now.  Honor,  let  us  go  below." 

"  Yes, '  replied  Captain  Adair,  with  a  pre- 
cautionary glance,  as  of  one  to  the  manner 
born,  at  the  masts  and  furled  mainsail ;  "  we 
may  as  well  take  a  look  round." 

The  moment  they  were  below,  they  were 
in  each  other's  arms.  It  was  delightful  to 
be  there,  they  two,  on  the  Belle  Aurore,  with 
a  calm  sea  and  favoring  breeze,  and  with, 
for  haven,  the  blue  waters  of  the  Port  of 
Adventure. 

"  Oh,  Captain,  my  Captain,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Wester,  reminiscent  of  words  of  \\'alt  Whit- 
man's, "  Is  not  this  simply  heavenly  ?  And 
what  a  crew  we  've  got !  Oh,  it 's  too  deU- 
cious  !  If  only  they  know  anything  at  all, 
we  '11  arrive  —  we  '11  arrive  somewhere  ! 
What  a  jolly  little  cabin  !  " 
93 


Wives  in  Exile 

A  dainty  sea-nest  it  was,  indeed.  Dark 
polished  oak-panelling,  a  narrow  table  cov- 
ered with  a  snow-white  cloth,  a  swing-rack 
supplied  with  crystal  as  clear-shining  as 
hope  ;  and  then,  to  right  and  left  —  "  to  star- 
board and  larboard.  Honor "  !  said  Mrs. 
Wester  —  two  of  the  most  charming  tiny 
rooms  that  were  ever  afloat,  each  with  a 
bunk  in  it  that  looked  like  a  captured  snow- 
drift. The  hangings,  the  fittings,  everything 
was  delightful.  Deep  sighs  of  content  floated 
hither  and  thither  wafted  onward  by  little 
breaths  of  laughter. 

"  Honor  !  " 

"Yes,  Leonora?" 

"  There  are  people  who  say  life  is  n't 
worth  living  !  " 

"  They  have  never  been  to  sea." 

"  There  are  people  who  say  there  is 
nothing  worth  doing  !  " 

"They  have  never  seen  a  Belle  Aurorer 

"  There  are  women  who  say  marriage  is  a 
failure  !  " 

"  They  have  never  given  their  spouses  the 
slip  !  " 

"  Oh,  Honor  !  " 

94 


Wives  in  Exile 

«  Oh,  Nora  !  " 

At  that  moment  Polly  Jones  entered,  com- 
ing down  the  cabin  stair  as  though  she  were 
of  india-rubber,  and  had  to  follow  the  rule  of 
her  kind  and  bump  from  side  to  side. 

"  Please  'm  !  " 

"  Polly,"  said  Mrs.  Wester,  severely,  "  don't 
stare  at  nothing.  If  you  say  please ';«  you 
must  mean  one  '/;z  in  particular." 

"  Yes  'm,  please  'm  !  Miss  Macfee,'m,  wants 
to  know  if  you  'd  like  anything,  'm?  " 

"  Yes,  Polly.  Let  me  see,  Honor,  do  you 
like  your  grog  neat?  " 

"Yes."  There  was  no  smile  on  Mrs. 
Adair's  face.  The  cabin-girl  was  impressed. 
Here  were  sailors  indeed  ! 

"  After  all  "  —  and  with  what  careless 
sangfroid  was  it  said  — ''  after  all,  Honor, 
we  'd  better  see  if  INIoriarty  knows  how  to 
make  tea.  Polly,  tell  Miss  Macfee  we  '11 
have  tea." 

"Yes,  Capting,  'm." 

"  Don't  say  ';«,  Polly." 

"No,  'm." 

"  And  look  here,  Polly,  eh  —  ah  —  con- 
found your  eyes  !  "  broke  in  Honor,  with  her 
95 


Wives  in  Exile 

own  bright  lights  a-twinkle  hke  stars,  —  "  tell 
First-Officer  Macfee  that  immediately  after 
tea  we  shall  have  the  roll-call." 

"  Yes,  Capting  Adair,  'm." 

Whereupon  the  child  vanished.  The  fore- 
castle would  soon  echo  to  tlie  rumor  of 
unstinted  admiration. 

But  when  she  was  gone,  Mrs.  Wester 
looked  reproachfully  at  her  friend.  "  Honor 
—  you  are  beautiful,  but  you  're  a  —  well,  a 
dear  sea-donkey  ! " 

"Why,  O  Wisdom?" 

"  Heavens,  Captain  Adair,  you  don't  have 
a  roll-call  on  board  a  yacht,  or  at  sea.  Roll- 
calls  are  for  —  eh,  ah,  —  the  land-forces  — 
Lady  Butler's  paintings  —  and  —  and  so  on." 

"  Never  mind,  Nora,  we  can  adopt  what 
we  choose.  What 's  the  good  of  having  a 
yacht  to  ourselves,  and  being  wives  in  exile, 
if  we  can't  have  the  privilege  of  doing  and 
saying  what  our  husbands  would  shiver  at?" 

"  That 's  true,  dear.  Ah,  here  comes  our 
first  officer  —  our  twin-first  officer  —  with 
the  tea.  Thank  you,  Macfee  —  Miss  Macfee 
—  that  will  do  nicely.  Let  me  see,  what  are 
these?" 

96 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  These  are  scones,  mem.  Mrs.  Moriarty 
mebbe  doesna  ken  sae  much  as  she  thinks 
she  does,  but  she  can  mak  buttered  scones." 

Was  there  ever  so  delightful  a  tea,  though 
taken  so  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  only 
with  two  wives  for  company  ?  Was  it  Honor, 
or  was  it  Leonora  whose  rapture  first  became 
lyric?  An  intoxication  lay  in  that  brew  of 
Cork-suppHed  *  blend,'  nay  lurked  in  the 
diluted  cream  which  First-Officer  Moriarty 
had  chastened  for  the  good  of  the  captains, 
for  whom  too  rich  a  diet  could  not  be  good, 
on  the  eve  of  a  sea-voyage. 

After  all,  was  it  the  cream,  the  tea?  Or 
was  it  the  keen  breath  of  ocean,  or  the 
laughter  of  the  foam-crested  wavelets  slap- 
ping one  against  the  other  in  the  sunshine  ? 

Or  was  it  the  sunshine  in  the  brain,  the 
sunny  laughter  of  life  in  the  hearts  of  two 
happy  young  women?  What  intoxication  is 
like  that,  —  the  sweet  delirium  of  happy 
life? 

It  was  with  a  sigh  that  Honor  drank  the 

last  mouthful  from  her  cup,  —  "  quaffed  the 

foaming  bowl  "  would  be  more  romantic,  of 

course,  but  less  exact,  and  if  this  chronicle 

7  97 


Wives  in  Exile 

has  any  value,  it  is  that  of  absolute  veracity. 
So,  not  the  bowl  —  though,  indeed,  a  com- 
promise might  have  been  effected  with  the 
sugar-bowl  —  but  the  cabin-cup,  that  is  quite 
as  intoxicating,  and  is  wed  to  laughing  gossip 
and  the  rout  of  the  azure  imps,  —  sole  vaga- 
bonds of  the  blue-devil  cohort  that  dare 
stray  near  youth  in  its  prime. 

"  Nora,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  would 
have  made  the  heart  of  the  young  commer- 
cial in  the  Dublin  hotel  palpitate  as  no  unex- 
pected windfall  could  have  done,  "Nora 
asthore,  oh,  it  is  good  /" 

"  Mrs.  Adair,  your  sentiments  do  you  honor. 
But  now  I  'm  going  to  unpack.  There  is  no 
reason  why  we  should  not  be  comfortable  ia 
case  that  *  snarling  '  comes  on,  which  Harry 
spoke  about." 

"  Right ;  but  we  need  n't  expect  the 
'snarling,'  for  there  are  no  headlands  at 
sea  1 " 

"  True  ;  I  had  n't  thought  of  that.  But 
we  must  certainly  see  to  our  own  unpacking. 
It  would  not  do  to  make  our  first  officers  act 
as  our  maids." 

''Maids,  Leonora  ! " 
98 


Wives   in  Exile 

"  Stewards,  I  mean,  of  course." 

But  at  this  moment  a  splasliing  was  heard 
alongside,  with  shrill  voices.  Dispute  was  in 
the  air.  Discipline  was  in  danger.  Is  it 
necessary  to  say  that  while  the  wrangling  was 
still  in  its  green  vigor,  Mrs.  Wester  and  Mrs. 
Adair  appeared  on  deck,  clad  with  the  ma 
jesty  of  authority,  if,  in  their  haste,  hatless. 

The  wind  is  a  lover  indeed.  He  can  pay 
equal  attention  to  two  beautiful  women  at 
the  same  moment.  Certainly  he  played  with 
those  dark  wavy  curls  and  those  tangled  sunny 
tresses  in  the  most  wantonly  bigamic  way. 
There  was  not  one  of  the  crew,  from  the 
austere  Macfee  to  Polly  the  cabin-girl,  who 
did  not  look  with  admiration.  Truly,  skip- 
pers to  dare  death  and  sea-sickness  for  ! 

Is  it  possible  that  sea-captains  can  stop,  in 
the  midst  of  their  duties  to  think  of  appear- 
ances? It  may  be.  Honor,  at  any  rate, 
looked  at  Mrs.  Wester  with  delighted  eyes. 
"  The  sweetest,  sunniest,  dearest  sunbeam  of 
a  woman  that  ever  laughed  a  man's  heart 
away,"  she  murmured  to  herself.  And,  in- 
deed, if  she  was  gold  within,  she  was  all 
a-shimmer  with  the  glow  without.  That  hair 
99 


Wives  in  Exile 

of  hers  !  As  for  Leonora,  she  said  nothing 
then,  but  under  the  stars  that  night  she  con- 
fided to  her  friend  that  if  she  were  a  man 
she  would  go  through  flood  and  flame  —  Mr. 
Wester  had  used  the  phrase  once,  before 
their  marriage  —  for  that  dark  loveUness 
whose  name  was  Honor. 

Tliere  are  people  who  say  that  women  are 
never  lovers.  But  —  this  comes  from  male 
arrogance.  The  male  is  often  only  the  sauce 
at  the  banquet  of  life,  pungent  if  delectable, 
obtrusively  present  if  the  reverse.  It  is  pos- 
sible for  the  flowers  and  the  fruit  to  admire 
each  other,  while  admitting  the  desirability  of 
other  stimulants  at  the  feast ! 

Meanwhile,  the  crew  stared. 

"All  aboard,"  exclaimed  Captain  Adair, 
with  a  certain  vagueness. 

"  Aye,  aye,  mum  !  " 

The  crew  had  spoken  with  one  voice,  with 
the  exception  of  Polly  Jones,  who  had  been 
too  shy.  When,  however,  she  caught  a  cap- 
tainly  eye  upon  her,  she  blushed  purply,  and 
with  abrupt  shrill  anxiety  repeated,  "  Aye, 
aye,  mum  !  " 

The  dingey  bobbed  alongside. 


Wives  in   Exile 

"Trail  it  astern,  O'Leary,"  said  Captain 
Wester,  whereat  the  red- breasted  Bridget 
moved  with  alacrity,  evidently  proud  of  the 
confidence  placed  in  her. 

This  done,  Leonora  called  upon  the  crew 
to  come  aft.  She  and  Honor  stood  by  the 
compass,  whereon  a  sun-ray  danced  a  joyous 
farandole.  From  a  paper  in  her  hands  she 
slowly  read  out  the  names  of  those  who 
sailed  upon  the  Belle  Aurore. 

She  was  about  to  begin  :  — 

"  Men  !  " 

Then  she  thought  better  of  it,  and  thought 
of  "  Lasses."  But  she  feared  Honor's  eyes, 
the  catch  in  Honor's  breath, 

"  Crew  !  "  she  cried. 

"Aye,  aye,  mum." 

"  Captain  Adair  and  I  wish  you  all  well. 
After  you  disperse,  First-Ofificer  Moriarty 
will  serve  you  all  a  glass  of  beer  to  drink 
good-luck  to  the  Belle  Aurore.^' 

Here  an  interruption  occurred.  Miss 
Macfee  took  a  step   forward. 

"  Please,  mem,  Captain  Wester,  mem,  that 
is  my  department,  as  I  'm  the  stewardess. 
Mrs.  Moriarty  hands  tae  the  food  an'  the  tea, 

lOI 


Wives  in  Exile 

but  for  mysel,  I  hae  the  wines  an'  speerits  in 
ma  charge." 

"  True,  true,  Macfee." 

A  vague  regret  was  in  Mrs.  Moriarty's 
eyes,  but  she  restrained  herself.  If  only  she 
had  made  a  stipulation  when  she  had  inter- 
viewed the  ladies  in  Dublin  !  —  now  it  was 
too  late. 

"  And  now,  eh  —  ah  —  Crew,  I  will  call 
over  the  names." 

"  Aye,  aye,  mum," 

"First-Officer  —  " 

At  this  moment,  a  whisper  warned  Leo- 
nora not  to  excite  jealousies  by  giving  pre- 
cedence to  either  cook  or  stewardess. 

"  First-Officers  Moriarty  and  Macfee  !  " 

"  Here,  mem,  if  ye  plase  !  " 

"  Here,  mem  !  " 

"  First-Officer  Macfee,  your  duties  lie 
mainly  aft.  Moriarty,  you  are  responsible 
for  the  cooking.  You  are  both  also  to  be 
ready  at  all  times  to  help  in  the  working  of 
this  yacht.  There  will  be  two  night  watches. 
First-Officer  Moriarty  will  have  the  first 
watch,  Miss  Macfee  the  second.  Captain 
Adair,  will  you  name  the  watches  ?  " 

102 


Wives  in  Exile 

Honor  swept  a  searching  glance  among 
the  crew;  a  greyhound  in  pursuit  of  the  dy- 
ing hare  of  a  smile.  It  was  gone,  or  it  had 
never  been. 

"  Bridget  O'Leary  !  " 

"  Here,  Capting,  I  'm  manin',  mum." 

"  Jane  Lanigan  !  " 

"  Here,  if  ye  please,  Capting  Miss." 

"  You  two  will  be  in  Mrs.  Moriarty's  watch. 
Eh  —  'm  —  ISIary  Murtagh  !  " 

"  Yes,  your  worship  !  " 

"  Murtagh,  I  will  trouble  you  to  use  no 
police-court    reminiscences." 

"No  mum,  Captings  both,  beggin'  the 
pardin's  av  yer  honors." 

"  Polly  Jones  !  " 

"Yes,  'm." 

"  You  two  will  be  in  Miss  Macfee's  watch." 

Just  then  a  loud  noise  forward  startled 
every  one. 

"  Drat  the  baste,  it  will  be  afther  the 
crame  !  "  exclaimed  First-Officer  Moriarty, 
discipline  alone  preventing  her  from  an 
abrupt  secession. 

"  Who  is  that?  "  Honor  demanded,  with  a 
severity  that  cloaked  a  hint  of  alarm. 
103 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Plase,  Capting  Adair,  mem,  it 's  the 
cat." 

"  Polly,  you  go  and  bring  that  cat  here." 

While  the  cabin-girl  pursued  the  unwilling 
disturber  of  the  peace,  the  captains  dis- 
cussed one  or  two  nautical  matters,  perti- 
nent to  the  actual  commencement  of  the 
voyage. 

Polly,  at  last,  red  and  scratched  on  her 
round  fat  hands,  returned  with  a  large  black 
cat. 

"  Whose  cat  is  this?  " 

There  was  no  answer.  Then  Miss  Macfee 
spoke. 

"  It  was  just  found  here,  mem.  He  's  a 
stowaway." 

**  An'  if  you  plase,  Captings,  't  is  for  luck 
the  baste  is  here.  A  black  cat  treated  well 
is  a  good  crayture  to  have  in  the  house  —  I 
mane,  at  say." 

"Is  that  so,  Mrs.  Moriarty?" 

"  It  is  indade,  Capting  Wester." 

"  Then  he  shall  be  entered  on  the  ship's 
books.  Let  me  see  —  We  '11  call  him  — 
we  '11  call  him  Mephisio" 

"  Aye,  aye,  mum." 

104 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Mephisto,  your  duty  will  be  to  look  after 
the  mice." 

A  broad  grin  came  on  board,  —  a  grin  that 
developed  into  a  genial  all-round  laugh  when, 
on  Mephisto's  being  suddenly  punched  by 
Polly,  a  snappy  viiaou  came  from  the  latest 
addition  to  the  yacht's  crew. 

"  And  now,  my  lassies,  up  with  the  anchor. 
Miss  Macfee,  let  go  the  main-sheet.  Cap- 
tain Adair,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  take 
the  wheel?  Polly,  look  alive  there,  and  drop 
that  cat  1  Take  the  flag  lying  yonder  and 
hoist  it.     Quick,  now  !  " 

In  a  few  minutes  the  anchor  was  up  and 
made  secure.  A  soft  swirl  of  balmy  wind 
seemed  to  swim  into  the  deepening  hollow 
of  the  mainsail.  Topsail  and  jib  unfurled 
like  wings.  The  sea-bird  quivered,  gently 
leaned  a  little  to  starboard,  and  glided  slowly, 
then  swift  and  more  swift,  through  the  froth- 
ing blue  water,  straight  for  the  sun-dazzle 
that  disclosed  the  diamond-fields  of  the  sea 
a  mile  ocean  ward. 


105 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  FAVORING  wind  !  What  magic  in 
the  phrase  !  It  is  what  we  all  seek, 
what  some  of  us  find  without  seeking,  what 
we  as  often  as  not  turn  our  backs  upon. 

It  meant  music  to  Leonora  Wester  and  to 
Honor  Adair.  Every  wavelet  called  laugh- 
ingly, "All's  well!" 

What  a  golden  afternoon  it  was !  how 
lovely  the  sundown,  a  vision  of  straits  of  pale 
gold  and  wide  shallows  of  daffodil,  with  small 
clouds  like  scarlet  flamingoes  standing  in- 
dolently on  the  sunside  of  purple  isles,  and 
over  all  a  sky  of  such  wonderful  azure,  from 
harebell  blue  to  the  exquisite  gray-bine  of 
smoke  over  woodlands.  It  was  a  sun-going 
to  remember. 

Two  dim  shadows  lay  east  and  west :  Ire- 
land a-lee,  the  Isle  of  Man  under  the  white 
disc  floating  transparently  in  the  graying  blue, 
x  1 06 


Wives  in  Exile 

Upon  the  Irish  Channel  there  were  craft 
bound  for  every  quarter,  —  luggers,"'  sloops, 
schooners,  brigantines,  brigs,  ocean-ships, 
steamers  large  and  small.  But,  within'  the 
range  of  those  on  board  the  Belle  Auroh, 
there  were  few  to  be  seen.  Eastward,  a 
yacht's  sail  flecked  a  feather  in  the  blue  ; 
westward,  a  brig,  full-sailed,  stood  for  the 
Welsh  coast ;  southward,  nothing  ;  northward, 
a  steamer's  smoke  trailed  like  an  undulating 
air-serpent. 

It  was  with  keen  satisfaction  Mrs.  Wester 
and  Mrs.  Adair  recognized  that  their  crew 
was  not  an  equipage  pour  rire.  They  really 
knew  "  the  ropes  "  ;  not  intimately,  perhaps, 
and  an  emergency  might  try  them,  but  — well 
they  were  efficient,  so  far.  That  was  good.  A 
passing  qualm  as  to  Harry  Adair's  loyalty  had 
overcome  the  two  adventurers,  once  the  Irish 
land  sank  into  a  purple  film.  But  no,  the 
first  shift  of  the  sails  proved  capacity.  As  for 
the  helm,  each  woman  at  the  wheel,  of  the 
three  who  had  that  post  of  honor,  displayed 
knowledge,  even  familiarity. 

"  We  can  sleep  in  peace,"  Leonora  re- 
marked, with  a  sigh  of  peace.  For  the  first 
107 


Wives  in  Exile 

time  since  she  had  left  Dublin  a  thought  of 
her  oiTspring  in  distant  lands  had  come  to  her. 

Honor  pondered. 

"  Can  we,  after  all,  leave  the  Belle  Au- 
r  vr  to  the  first  or  second  watch  ?  Should 
we  not  each  take  a  watch  ourselves?  Cap- 
tains generally  do.  Or  they  come  on  deck 
at  intervals.     I  forget  which." 

''  We  can  keep  ours  from  eight  to  twelve 
—  on  fine  nights.  That  is,  from  eight  bells 
to  eight  bells  p.  m." 

"  Oh,  Nora  dear,  there  is  no  such  phrase  as 
that.  I  never  heard  any  one  say '  eight  bells 
p.  M.'  " 

"  Have  j'^?<f  crossed  from  America,  Honor  ? " 

"No,  but  —  " 

*'  My  dear,  each  of  us  must  bring  her  own 
store  of  wisdom  to  the  navigation  of  this 
vessel.  How  are  we  to  know  what  eight 
bells  we  mean?  I  propose  that  we  keep  to 
*  hours.'  We  can  take  it  as  the  custom  on 
yachts.     If  not,  it  ought  to  be." 

As  for  Mrs.  Moriarty,  she  proved  herself 

not  only  a  capable  first  officer,  —  in  so  far  at 

least  as  she  did  with  expedition  what  she  was 

directed  to  do,  — but  an  excellent  cook.     A 

1 08 


Wives  in  Exile 

fault  in  seawomanship  may  be  forgiven  to' 
one  who  can  turn  an  omelet  with  the  deft- 
ness of  a  French  ctnsinier.  Should  not  com- 
plaisance await  the  occasional  obliviousness 
of  the  woman  at  the  wheel  who  can  make 
coffee  as  though  ordained  to  that  rare  and 
beautiful  end  ? 

The  Belle  Aurore  seemed  to  know  that 
she  had  sailed  under  a  quiet  star.  The 
beautiful  yawl  moved  with  inimitable  grace. 
Her  keel  was  a  transient  shadow.  The  mir- 
rored sails  now  glided  through  a  silent  world ; 
for,  with  the  setting  of  the  sun,  the  breeze 
had  fallen  to  a  soft  breath,  and  the  last  white 
sheep  had  been  driven  to  its  deep-sea  fold. 
The  waters  lay  calm,  wonderful  in  luminous 
purple,  blue,  green,  or  dusky  violet,  though 
graying  slowly  as  the  twilight  sent  invisible 
pioneer  shadows  to  make  way  for  the  long 
summer  gloaming. 

It  is  presumable  that  no  captains,  or  no 
one  who  went  down  to  the  sea  in  ships  on 
that  day,  had  a  dinner  such  as  was  served 
in  this  slow-gliding  yawl.  Impossible  to 
describe  that  feast,  for  the  viands  and  the 
divine  draughts  that  washed  them  down  were 
J.  09 


Wives  in  Exile 

served  on  plates  and  in  vessels  of  rainbow- 
gold.  The  fruit  came  from  Eden,  the  coffee 
was  of  berries  grown  in  the  Orient  of  Heaven, 
and  the  cigarettes  witnessed  to  tobacco  plan- 
tations amid  the  groves  of  Paradise. 

This  only  may  be  said,  on  the  lower  levels ; 
that  Mrs.  Moriarty  supplied,  also,  a  purSe  of 
oysters,  two  brown  sea-savored  soles,  deli- 
cate cutlets  from  a  lamb  fresh  and  sweet  as 
the  green  peas  it  may  have  glanced  at  in  a 
cottage  garden,  from  its  sporting-place  under 
a  meadow  hawthorn.  An  omelet  there  was, 
too,  foamed  at  the  fringes  as  the  wave  that 
bore  Aphrodite.  Dark  globes  of  the  grape 
held  the  cooled  ardour  of  sun  and  earth ;  a 
pine-apple  fed  the  mind  with  its  fragrance,  as 
well  as  seduced  the  two  frailest  of  the  senses ; 
a  cluster  of  Morella  cherries  lay  among  some 
green  leaves,  beautiful  gypsies  there,  in  that 
hot-house  company. 

And  temperate  they  were,  these  ladies. 
No  mixing'  of  fiery  wines.  Mrs.  Wester,  a 
married  woman,  a  mother,  and  an  American, 
took,  as  a  nun  might  take  a  benediction,  a 
tiny  anteprandial  sip  out  of  a  flagon  labelled 
"  Vermouth."  There  was  no  other  asper- 
iio 


Wives  in   Exile 

sion  upon  the  brand  of  dry  champagne,  con- 
tained in  two  golden-legended  bottles,  each 
but  a  Utile  laughing  pint  that  knew  no 
harm. 

With  the  coffee,  whose  compelling  fra- 
grance had  already  wedded  the  odors  of 
the  sea  and  now  longed  for  union  with  the 
quiet  flavors  of  peace  lurking  in  golden  Vir- 
ginia, these  joyous  captains  hesitated.  Should 
they  spoil  by  a  breath,  a  suspicion,  that 
proper  pride  of  the  lone,  distinctive  palate  ? 
The  question  troubled.  Cognac  —  it  was 
old,  matured  as  by  grace  of  God  and  the 
care  of  Bacchic  man,  conserved  flame  de- 
void of  any  burning  fire  —  obviously  ex- 
pected reverent  heed.  There  was  a  small 
flask  of  Green  Chartreuse  ;  but,  well  —  ladies 
have  been  known  who  would  not  touch  that 
green  loveliness.  Leonora  said  "  no,"  defi- 
nitely,—  a  tone  familiar  to  him,  desolate  in 
London  now,  who  loved  her  and  called  her 
wife.  As  for  Honor,  some  reminiscence 
flaunted  a  red  flag  on  her  cheek.  It  came 
and  was  gone,  a  fugitive  signal.  But  Mrs. 
Wester  saw  it,  laughed,  and  brought  a  smile, 
inscrutable  certainly,  but  beautiful,  into  the 
III 


Wives  in  Exile 

dark  eyes  of  her  companion.  And  so  — 
the  Green  Chartreuse  was  left  to  its  dream  of 
brown-cowled  monks,  a  sun-splashed  monas- 
tery, and  drowsed  memories  of  the  Midi. 

Benedictine  seduced  them.  Its  delicate 
French  prose  turned  the  lyric  note  into  an 
exquisite  common-sense.  They  rang  the 
electric  bell  for  Polly  Jones. 

"  Sprite  or  devil,"  quoted  Mrs.  Wester, 
reminiscent  of  Poe,  —  to  the  alarm  of  the 
cabin-girl,  who  stood  guiltily  agape,  till  Honor 
laughingly  bade  her  close  her  mouth  for  fear 
a  sea-rat  might  playfully  hop  into  that  cav- 
ernous cranny. 

"Polly,  my  lass,"  she  added,  "we  shall 
have  our  coffee  and  cigarettes  on  deck." 

When  they  emerged,  the  moon,  fast  yel- 
lowing, already  was  weaving  its  pale  gold 
through  the  vast  dusky  web  of  the  sea.  Ju- 
piter blazed  in  the  north ;  south-westward 
Venus  suspended  in  a  liquid  fire.  Star  after 
star  came  to  meet  the  searching  glance. 
Night,  the  night  of  summer,  was  come. 


112 


CHAPTER  VII 

NEXT  morning  Mrs.  Wester  began  a 
letter  to  Richard.  It  was  an  affec- 
tionate epistle,  gay  too  with  what  seemed  to 
Leonora  a  fetching  irony. 

That  he  did  not  receive  it  was  not  the 
fault  of  the  post.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
letter  was  mentally  composed  only.  But  for 
Honor's  enthusiasm  it  would  have  been 
written. 

So  Richard  Wester  lost  his  letter  and 
the  sea  gained  two  unexpected  Nereids. 

For  what  was  this  apparition  that  broke 
upon  Mrs.  Wester  where  she  lay  in  her  cosy 
bunk,  her  knees  tucked  up,  and  a  blank  sheet 
of  paper  outspread  for  the  capture  of  her 
marital  confidences?  Was  she  still  asleep, 
she  wondered?  No,  for  a  little  ago  she  had 
waked,  listened  with  delight  to  the  rippling 


8 


113 


Wives  in  Exile 

wash  alongside,  felt  with  pleasure  the  vibra- 
tion of  the  yielding  planks,  and  with  glee 
beheld  a  sunray  dancing  in  at  her  porthole- 
window  and  tickling  her  lovely  (she  thought 
it  so,  and  justly)  her  lovely,  sleepy  second- 
self  in  the  mirror  opposite.  Then  had  she 
not  looked  at  her  watch,  and  found  that  un- 
conscionable companion  fallen  into  a  sea- 
silence  :  and  had  she  not  lain  and  wondered 
if  Honor  were  awake,  and  then  thought  of 
that  dutiful  letter  to  Mr.  Wester,  till  a  drowsi- 
ness —  no  sleep  certainly,  merely  indolent 
languor  —  overcame  her,  and  she  had  begun 
to  wonder  if  Mrs.  Moriarty  and  Miss  Macfee 
had  declared  a  deathless  feud  and  were  per- 
haps already  far  sunk  in  a  cold  watery 
grave ;  and  if  Polly  Jones  were  steering 
the  Belle  Aurore  straight  upon  a  marine 
forest  of  reefs  set  among  shallows  and  quick- 
sands; and  if  that  was  Jacob  Macmasters 
there,  menacing,  awe-inspiring,  with  the 
ruins  of  the  ^A7-p  o'  Hea7-m  all  round  him, 
—  with,  washing  to  and  fro  in  the  fore- 
ground, the  drowned  bodies,  absurd  little  fat 
corpses,  of  poor  Bridget  O'Leary's  twins, 
with  Denis  the  absent  one  trying  from  a  rock 
114 


Wives  in   Exile 

to  secure  one  of  them  with  a  boat-hook  — 
and  —  and  —  with  a  start  she  looked  up  ? 
It  was  Honor. 

Honor  garbed  for  the  sea  ! 

For  a  moment  Leonora  closed  her  eyes. 
Was  it  possible  she  had  forgotten  her  bathing 
costume,  that  dainty  sea-suit  to  which  she 
had  given  so  much  delighted  thought?  If 
so,  Dublin  again  :  yes,  though  Harry's  Cork- 
headland  wind  might  snarl,  —  aye,  even 
though  her  fellow-captain  should  rage  and 
imagine  a  vain  thing.  Then,  in  a  flash,  she 
remembered.  All  was  well.  She  liked  hers 
better  too,  for  the  white  braiding  and  orna- 
mentation suited  her  better  than  the  orange 
hue  which  relieved  Honor's,  —  though,  to  be 
sure,  Honor  had  tied  a  most  seductive 
little  breast-knot !  She  could  emulate  that, 
though  !  While  her  eyes  admired,  while  her 
tongue  flattered  the  vision  which  had  inter- 
rupted her,  her  mind  ransacked  her  scanty 
wealth  in  millinery.  A  leap  at  the  heart 
heralded  the  conviction  that  she  had  a 
ribbon  made  of  the  very  blue  of  heaven. 

Then  —  O  happy  Nora  —  she  was  kissed. 
The  vision  kissed    her  !      Strange,  pleasure 


Wives  in  Exile 

but  not  rapture  met  that  embrace.  Men 
and  women  fundamentally  the  same  !  Swirl- 
ing dust ! 

Reader,  male  reader,  would  you  or  I 
have  been  thus  insensitive  ?  Think  of  it,  — 
no,  I  dare  not :  nor  should  you,  married  or 
unmarried.  In  this  world  many  are  called, 
few  chosen. 

But  all  that  was  said  was  — 

"O  Honor!" 

The  next  moment  Captain  Wester  was  on 
her  feet. 

"  If  not  strictly  nautical,  Nora,  you  are 
charming  !  "  This  from  the  rival  captain, 
laughingly. 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear  :  if  a  hero  be  still 
a  hero  in  his  night-shirt,  so  may  a  heroine 
remain  a  heroine  in  her  night-gown.  But 
—  Honor  !  —  is  it  safe  to  swim  out  here,  in 
the  open  ocean?  " 

"  O  you  darling  donkey,  of  course  it  is. 
We  are  having  a  race  with  a  sea-snail  some- 
where :  in  other  words  we  crawl.  An  hour 
hence  we  may  be  becalmed  as  likely  as  not. 
Besides,  as  we  're  both  such  good  swimmers, 
what  does  it  matter  whether  we  have  a  dip 
ii6 


Wives  in  Exile 

here  or  within  the  shore  mile?  In  cither 
case  we  should  be  out  of  our  depth  !  " 

"  You  are  always  so  tiresomely  reasonable, 
Honor  !  If —  mind  you,  I  merely  hint  if 
an  accident  happened,  and  we,  you  or  I, 
eh  —  ah  —  sank  —  it  would  be  —  ah  —  so 
awkward,  you  know,  for  Richard,  or,  or, 
Wilfrid." 

"  Well,  dear,  I  admit  that  we  could  n't 
expect  them  to  drag  for  us  out  heyeT 

"  O  wretched  woman  —  I  mean  Captain 

—  if  you  will  risk  our  precious  lives  it  must 
be  so.  Well,  a  moment,  and  I  am  with 
you." 

The  moment  extended  to  several  minutes, 
but  at  last  the  white  and  the  orange  stood 
side  by  side  in  the  cabin. 

"  I  wonder  who  's  on  deck  "  Honor  whis- 
pered nervously. 

"What  does  it  matter?  They're  only  — 
ah,  that  is,  they're  only  the  crew.  Polly 
Jones  may  grin,  and  the  crew  may  giggle  : 
but  —  well,  we  '11  have  our  dip  !  " 

"  One  moment,  Nora  —  Hi,  there,  Polly  1 

—  Polly  !  " 

"  Yes  'm  !    Yes  'm  !  "   came    breathlessly 
117 


Wives  in  Exile 

down  the  cabin  stairs,  with  an  immediacy 
which  suggested  that  Polly  had  been  lying 
in  wait,  with  ears  intent  for  cabin  gossip. 

"  Polly,  tell  Miss  Macfee  to  step  this  way. 
Ah,  never  mind  —  there  she  is  !  Good- 
morning,  Miss  Macfee  !  " 

"  Lord  save  us,  mem,  ye  're  nae  gaun  on 
deck  wi'  thae  thin  summer-claethin '  !  It 's 
na  the  weather  for  it  yet,  forbye  it 's  early 
mornin',  an'  ye  have  na  had  a  bite  yet." 

"  Miss  Macfee,  it  is  n't  customary  for  lieu- 
tenants, or  first-officers  of  any  kind,  to  make 
remarks  on  their  captain's  apparel.  How- 
ever, you  sin  in  ignorance.  These  are  not 
summer-clothing,  but  swimming -costumes, 
and  Mrs.  —  that  is,  Captain  —  Wester  and  I 
are  going  in  for  a  swim,  as  we  hope  to  do 
every  morning,  if  the  weather  keeps  fine." 

"Weel,  Captain  Adair,  mem,  and  you, 
mem,  ye  ken  your  ain  business,  but  it  seems 
tae  me  an  unco  perilous  thing  tae  be  jumpin' 
aff  a  boat  into  the  deep  sea." 

"  You  can  stand  by,  Macfee  1  Have  a 
rope  ready !  The  moment  we  sing  out 
'  Lifebelts  ahoy ! '  over  you  hurl  one,  two, 
three  !  " 

ii8 


Wives  in  Exile 

Meanwhile  Polly  had  fled.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  her  errand  was  the  arousing  of 
the  crew. 

"  What  if  they  mutiny?  "  laughed  Leonora. 

"  And  say  they  cannot  permit  the  suicide 
of  the  captains  !  " 

"  Macfee,  can  you  navigate  ?  " 

"  I  hev  never  tried,  Captain  Wester,  mem, 
so  I  canna  say." 

"Can  Mrs.  Moriarty?" 

Miss  Macfee  laughed  a  short,  dry,  sandy 
laugh. 

"  Navigate  !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  Mrs. 
Moriarty  !  Navigate  !  " 

"  Well,  well,  Macfee,  it 's  not  so  unusual 
to  expect  a  first-officer  to  know  something 
about  navigation.  Never  mind,  I  daresay 
we  're  safer  without  it." 

"  Besides,"  Honor  broke  in,  with  wise  pre- 
vision, "  you  and  I,  Nora,  are  familiar  with 
it.     So  it  does  not  matter." 

"  True,  true  !  I  had  forgotten  that,  —  I 
mean,  I  was  thinking  only  of  first-officers  in 
general.  But  come  !  This  is  shivery  !  In 
five  seconds  my  courage  will  be  crying  its 
poor  little  eyes  out  in  my  bed  !  "  There- 
119 


wives  in   Exile 

with  there  was  a  run,  a  patter  of  bare  feet,  a 
catching  of  rapid  breath  as  the  keen  salt  air 
closed  round  upon  two  white  necks  and  four 
bare  arms  and  two  pairs  of  the  comeliest 
ankles  that  ever  made  the  heart  of  a  young 
shoemaker  throb.  Fortunate  breeze  !  How 
the  dark  and  fair  tresses  waved  to  and  fro, 
little  sprays  of  blown  hair,  fluffed,  merely 
fluffed  into  a  bewitching  tangle. 

The  whole  crew  of  the  Belle  Auro7'e  had 
mustered  for  the  occasion.  There  was  not 
a  hint,  a  breath  of  insubordination.  An  ad- 
miration, from  professional  approval  on  the 
part  of  Mrs.  Moriarty  —  whose  sister  kept  a 
set  of  six  bathing  boxes  on  Queenstown 
beach  —  to  adoration  blent  with  awe  on  the 
part  of  Polly  Jones,  exhibited  itself. 

Two  glances  swept  the  horizon.  There 
were  no  vessels  near.  Far  off,  all  save  north- 
ward, were  divers  craft,  chiefly  coasters  and 
small  sloops.  Not  a  steamer  even,  and, 
above  all,  no  neighboring  yacht.  Then  the 
searching  eyes  had  time  to  look  at  the  beauty 
of  that  glorious  morning.  The  sun  swept 
the  waves  as  with  a  gigantic  golden  scythe. 
The   splendor   of    the    sun   scattered    silver 


Wives  in  Exile 

everywhere  with  superb  profusion.  A  uni- 
versal rippling  and  dappling  into  little  hol- 
lows showed  that  the  breeze  had  not  wakened 
a  single  white-sheep ;  though  now  and  then  a 
mere  lambkin  of  foam  frisked  a  dazzling  patch 
of  white  fleece,  and  then  scurried  off  down  this 
or  that  green  lawn  to  this  or  that  blue  fold. 

Never  was  there  a  more  seductive  sea. 
Every  violet  patch,  every  azure  reach,  every 
purplish  strait  was  alive  with  sunfire.  Be- 
neath the  yacht,  a  deep  lustrous  green  shelved 
into  emerald. 

"Now,  Nora,  now;  O  glory!"  cried 
Honor  joyously,  as  with  a  run  she  cleared 
the  yard  or  two  of  deck,  just  alighted  on  the 
port  gangway,  which  Polly  or  some  other 
ministering  angel  had  lowered,  and  with  a 
leap  was  in  the  water,  head-foremost,  clean- 
cut  as  a  sea-mew,  a  seal,  a  diving  otter, 
a  mermaid  from  a  rock  ! 

''Ah  —  h  —  hr' 

That  inarticulate  gurgle  was  —  music. 
Perhaps  no  one  there  called  it  so ;  but  many 
a  song-burst  dies  unheard.  That  sounds  as 
though  some  poet  had  said  it ;  so  runs  the 
rhythm ;    well,    singer    unknown,     pardon ! 

121 


Wives  in  Exile 

Music !  So  any  one,  —  any  male,  who 
might  have  heard  it,  would  have   said. 

It  came  from  Captain  Wester. 

It  was  the  safety-valve  of  stifled  rapture. 

The  next  moment  there  was  another  blue 
shadow  aflit  across  the  deck ;  another  leap- 
ing Nereid ;  another  splash. 

The  sea  held  the  two  captains.  All  dis- 
cipline was  at  an  end.  The  cabin-girl  was 
wedged  in  between  the  two  first-officers,  and 
Bridget  O'Leary's  ample  bust  inclined  like 
an  impendent  avalanche  over  the  shoulder 
of  Miss  Macfee.  Nay,  more,  the  clutch  of 
Jane  Lanigan's  fist  upon  the  soft  side  of  the 
Moriarty  muscles  was  unnoticed  till  a  sudden 
tautening  produced  a  most  unmatronly  curse. 

"  Ah  shure,  the  darlints,"  said  Bridget  the 
indiscreet,  admiringly,  —  "  just  look  at  thim, 
Mary  !  Faith,  they  're  like  ducks  bhobbin' 
up  an'  down  in  the  blue  wather  there  !  " 

"  Whist,  ye  blatherskite  !  " 

"  Ah,  saints  in  hiven,  did  ye  ever  see  the 
loike  o'  that,  now?" 

"  Whoop  !  There  they  go,  —  shure  it 's 
amazin'  how  they  don't  sink,  an'  it's  so 
deep  too  !  " 

122 


Wives  in  Exile 

"Well,  well,  't  is  eddycation  does  it.  An' 
it 's  that  that  Pathrick  and  Phelim  'U  have, 
bless  me  pore  bhoys,  —  ah,  and  it 's  God 
knows  what  thim  childher  are  doin'  now  ! 
Jane  Lanigan,  take  your  slop-bucket  of  a 
fhist  out  o'  my  side  !  " 

"They  're  comin'  I     They  're  comin' !  " 

"  Back  there  !  Ye  aggravatin'  ignyrant 
craytures,  d'  ye  know  what  ud  happen  if 
there  wis  anny  wind  at  all  at  all !  Why,  it 's 
taken  aback  we  'd  be  !  An'  not  a  soul  at 
the  wheel !  Holy  Virgin,  't  is  enough  to 
make  a  cat  swear  !  Mary  Murtagh,  you  go 
to  that  wheel  quicker  than  you  can  wink, 
or  I  '11  know  the  rayson  why  !  You  there, 
Lanigan,  haul  in  that  rope,  —  no  !  no ! 
Jasus  Christ  av  pity  on  you,  woman  !  't  is 
the  topsail  rope  I  'm  manin'  !  Polly  Jones, 
you  hurry  up  with  thim  towels  for  the  Cap- 
tings,  or  it 's  the  worst  skelping  you  've  ever 
had  you  '11  be  getting  !  " 

Mrs.  Moriarty  had  a  voice.  Of  that  there 
could  be  no  question.  Its  stentorian  boom 
was  like  a  thump  upon  the  backs  of  those  to 
whom  she  addressed  herself. 

Honor  and  Leonora  heard  it  too,  amid  the 
123 


Wives  in  Exile 

lapping  of  the  water  and  the  splash  of  the 
wavelets  against  the  white  rows  of  their 
breasts  and  under  their  sweeping  arms. 
Their  laughter  rippled. 

Ah,  the  delight  of  that  morning  swim  !  the 
exquisite  rhythmic  motion ;  the  buoyancy  of 
the  salt  sea ;  the  feeling  as  though  the  water 
was  electrified  by  the  sun,  and  every  inch  of 
the  body  bathed  in  fluid  gold ;  the  soft, 
swift  yielding,  the  swifter  inflow  and  embrace ; 
the  rippling  past  ear  and  neck  of  the  running 
wave ;  the  sight,  the  smell,  the  wonder,  the 
intoxication  ! 

Panting,  the  swimmers  drew  near. 

"  Look,  Honor,"  Leonora  gasped,  baffling 
an  eddy  that  tried  to  leap  down  her  throat, 
"  is  n't  she  lovely  !  " 

As,  at  that  moment,  the  round  red  coun- 
tenance of  Mrs.  Moriarty  was  looming  over 
the  taffrail.  Honor  thought  the  exclamation 
was  intended  for  the  co-first-officer,  instead 
of  the  Be//e  Ai/rore.  The  temptation  to 
avenge  herself  upon  her  too  quizzical  com- 
rade was  more  than  she  could  withstand. 

With  a  lurch  she  seized  Captain  Wester's 
left  foot,  just  as  that  officer  was  about  to  lift 
124 


Wives  in  Exile 

herself  out  of  the  water  by  the  rope  dangling 
alongside  the  port-gangway. 

Splutter,  splash,  and  a  stifled  yell !  Igno- 
miniously,  a  commander  sank,  screeching. 

^^  Kismet  r^  cried  Honor,  while,  poised 
for  a  second  on  the  lowest  step,  she  let  the 
brine  stream  from  her ;  then,  with  a  joyous 
laugh,  when  she  saw  a  golden  head  emerge 
from  the  deep  as  though  propelled  from  a 
catapult,  she  clambered  aboard,  left  a  drip- 
ping trail  upon  the  white  deck,  and  disap- 
peared into  the  happy  haven  of  her  cabin. 


125 


CHAPTER   VIII 

WHEN    Leonora   came   on  deck,  she 
saw  the  need  for  authority.     The 
grin  extended  from  Macfee  to  Polly  Jones. 

A  glance  sufficed. 

The  mainsail  had  been  furled.  The  yacht 
might  as  well  have  been  in  Dublin  Bay  all 
night.  Had  she  been  laying-to  all  night? 
The  thought  was  a  humiliating  one. 

But  Captain  Wester  had  not  coached  her- 
self for  nothing. 

"  Cast  off  these  tyers,  there ;  slack  out  the 
main  sheet !  Now,  then,  Lanigan,  and  you, 
Murtagh,  hoist  the  peak  and  belay  the  peak 
halyards,  —  and  see  you  coil  the  halyards 
neatly  close  under  their  cleats." 

How   she    hoped    Honor   was    listening ! 
Had  Captain  Adair  any  idea  that  her  col- 
league  was   so    apt    in    sea-talk?     Ah,    the 
secret  of  that !  —  but  no. 
126 


Wives  in  Exile 

Her  alacrity  of  phrase,  even  more  than  her 
commanding  tone,  had  a  marked  effect. 
Bustle  prevailed.  Mrs.  Moriarty  gave  a  hasty 
glance  to  see  that  the  coffee  was  not  boiling 
over,  and  then  spanked  Polly  Jones's  ears  for 
not  coiling  a  halyard  lying  under  her  very 
nose. 

"Now,  then,  Miss  Macfee,  don't  let  the 
crew  coil  halyards  in  that  lubberly  way. 
Capsize  them,  —  capsize  them  !  " 

But  here  a  whispered  voice  came  from  the 
cabin  stairs.  None  heard  it  except  Captain 
Wester,  unless  it  was  Bridget  O'Leary,  who 
was  at  the  wheel,  though  with  a  face  inno- 
cent of  delight.  "  Nora  darling,  are  you  out 
of  your  mind?     Do  come  down  !  " 

Almost  it  seemed  as  if  the  crew  entertained 
some  such  idea  also. 

"  Capsize  them  !  " 

What  did  it  mean?  Was  it  a  nautical 
term,  or  a  threat  ?  If  it  had  been  '  capsize 
her '  the  allusion  might  have  been  to  Polly> 
who  was  snivelling,  or  to  Lanigan,  who  had 
caught  her  ankle  in  a  coil  and  was  palliating 
her  wrath  by  painful  Cork  expletives. 

"  Don't  you  know  how  to  capsize,  you 
127 


Wives  in  Exile 

lubbers  !  Turn  the  halyards  over,  so  that 
the  end  is  under  the  coil !  " 

All  hoped  that  Captain  Wester  would  now 
go  below.  She  was  dripping,  and  probably 
catching  cold.  It  was  not  solicitude  for  her, 
however. 

"  Why  is  that  jib  down.  Miss  Macfee  ?  " 

"  Well,  mem,  I  dinna  just  ken." 

"  Be  so  good  as  to  ken  in  future.  This 
yacht  is  not  a  canal-barge.  You  there,  have 
the  bobstay  and  bowsprit  shrouds  been  hove 
taut?" 

"  Aye,  aye,  mum  !  " 

"  Well,  haul  out  the  tack  on  the  traveller 
—  belay  the  outhaul  —  look  out,  there,  keep 
the  jib  out  of  the  water  —  hoist  the  halyards 
taut,  and  belay  !  You,  Lanigan  and  Murtagh, 
trim  in  the  lee  sheet.  Now,  then,  stand  by 
to  tend  the  jib  and  foresheets.  Are  you 
ready,  O'Leary?" 

A  nod  came  from  the  attentive  Bridget, 
apoplectic  with  excitement. 

"Then  Ready  about/'' 

There  was  a  moment  of  breathless  silence. 
Then  O'Leary  sang  out  Hebn's-a-lee,  and 
brought  the  yawl  up  into  the  wind,  such 
128 


Wives  in   Exile 

as  there  was,  as  though  she  were  a  skilled 
driver  with  a  sensitive  horse. 

But  it  was  just  a  trifle  overdone.  The 
fitful  breeze  wandering  by  saw  this  and  glee- 
fully took  advantage.  The  Belle  Aurore 
suddenly  lay  up  in  the  wind,  her  sails 
shaking. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Nora  ?  For  Heaven's 
sake  let  us  go  either  forward  or  backward,  but 
not  shiver  here  in  this  ridiculous  fashion  !  " 

Was  it  anger  or  fear  that  palpitated  in 
Honor's  usually  sweet  voice  ?  It  was  shrill, 
alas.  Captain  Wester's  nerves  felt  the 
blight. 

"  Avast !  "  she  exclaimed,  —  with  undue 
emphasis.  Honor  thought  a  sneering  severity. 

'*  I  will  not  avast,  Leonora,"  replied  the 
reprimanded.  "  Don't  you  know  what  you 
have  done?  You  have  caused  the  yacht  to 
miss  stays  and  get  in  irons." 

Mrs.  Wester  stared. 

Could  this  be  Honor  Adair?  She  had 
picked  up  a  store  of  marine  knowledge,  but 
had  Honor  dreamed  herself  into  knowledge  ? 
It  was  incredible.  And  yet  —  no,  of  a  cer- 
tainty Mrs.  Adair  would  never  have  made 
9  129 


Wives  in  Exile 

that  allusion  to  stays  if  she  had  not  been 
sure  of  what  she  was  saying.  However,  it 
was  not  a  time  to  bandy  words.  The  yawl 
had  now  lost  headway. 

"  Haul  the  head  sheets  to  windward,"  she 
cried,  a  little  quaveringly  because  of  the  chill 
that  was  now  upon  her. 

"  O'Leary,  put  the  helm  to  starboard. 
You  there,  slack  out  the  main  and  mizzen 
sheets  !  " 

The  vessel  now  began  to  move  slowly  on 
the  port  tack. 

"  Miss  Macfee  !  " 

"Yes,  mem." 

"When  she  has  paid  off  sufficiently,  trim 
the  sheets.     Keep  her  on  the  port  tack." 

With  that,  Leonora  gave  a  final  glance 
that  embraced  the  yacht,  the  sails,  the  sea 
around,  and  the  heaven  above  :  and,  with  as 
much  dignity  as  was  possible  in  the  circum- 
stances went  below. 

The  moment  she  had  disappeared  the 
crew  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Weel,  guid  sakes ! "  muttered  First- 
Officer  Macfee,  below  her  breath. 

First-Officer  Moriarty  was  more  explicit. 
130 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Well  gyurls,  I  'm  damned  —  by  all  the 
Sints  I  'm  damned  —  if  the  loike  o'  that  was 
iver  seen  afore  I  Talk  o'  men  !  Why,  there 
is  n't  a  capting  on  the  say  knows  more  than 
she  does ! " 

"An'  her  in  costoom  too,  an'  dhrippin' 
wet,"  murmured  Jane  Lanigan. 

"The  knowledge  av  'er ! "  Mary  Mur- 
tagh  could  ejaculate  no  more  than  this. 

More  might  have  been  said,  but  a  shrill 
screech  from  Polly  Jones  testified  to  the  fact 
that  the  coffee  was  boiling  over. 

Meanwhile  the  two  captains  stood  facing 
each  other  in  the  cabin.  Captain  Wester 
dripped  in  statu  quo.  Captain  Adair  was 
wrapped  in  a  huge  bath-towel.  Both  looked 
so  fresh  and  lovely,  so  cool  and  sweet  and 
exquisitely  well,  that  no  imp  of  discord 
could  have  remained  for  more  than  a 
second. 

"  O  Nora,  you  darling,  wise,  extraordinary, 
ridiculous,  delightful  dear  !  " 

"  Why,  Honor,  what  are  you  after?  " 

"  After  !     It 's  you,  mavourneen  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  was  only  giving  a  few  words  to  the 
crew.    They  need  looking  after." 
131 


^  Wives  in  Exile 

"  Captain  darlint,  if  you  '11  allow  me  I  '11 
have  that  towel,  for  I  'm  flooding  the  cabin, 
to  say  nothing  of  laying  the  foundation  of  a 
rapid  consumption." 

A  scuffle,  a  ripple  of  laughter,  and  Honor 
retreated  victorious. 

Wet  and  happy,  Mrs.  Wester  sought  her 
own  cabin.  The  two  called  to  each  other 
in  joyous  badinage  while  they  dressed,  and 
Polly  Jones  set  the  breakfast.  Soon  that 
eagerly  desired  meal  made  its  appearance 
tended  by  Miss  Macfee, 

There  were  not  such  rolls,  such  butter  and 
cream,  such  bacon  and  eggs,  such  grilled 
kidneys,  such  marmalade,  such  coffee,  such 
a  white  cloth,  such  a  bowl  of  roses,  on  any 
other  table,  on  sea  or  land  ! 

It  was  done  justice  to,  that  meal. 

"  After  all.  Honor,"  said  Mrs.  Wester, 
near  the  end,  peeling  a  mandarin  orange  : 
"  after  all,  you  too  know  more  than  I  thought 
you  did.  That  remark  about  the  stays  was 
learned  in  no  milliner's  establishment !  " 

Honor  laughed  a  slight  flush  on  her  bonny 
face. 

"  I  do  happen  to  know  a  few  things  about 
132 


Wives  in   Exile 

sailing.  Of  course,  dear,  I  have  n't  your 
thorough  knowledge." 

"  H'm  —  can  you  —  eh  —  ah  —  scandalize 
a  mainsail?  " 

Was  this  a  trap,  Honor  wondered.  It 
was  impossible  to  guess  from  Leonora's  face. 
Demureness  dwelled  there.  On  the  whole 
the  chances  were  that  Mrs.  Wester  was 
taking  her  revenge.  Still,  marine  phrase- 
ology abounded  in  incongruities  and  idio- 
cies, and  it  was  possible  that  mainsails 
could  be  scandalized.  She  would  compro- 
mise. 

"  What  did  you  say,  dear  ?  I  did  not 
quite  catch  it." 

"  I  asked,  my  dear  Captain  Adair,"  Leo- 
nora answered  dryly,  "  I  asked,  can  you 
scandalize  a  mainsail?" 

"  I  am  surprised,  Nora,  that  one  of  so 
exact  a  mind  as  yours,  and  trained  too  by 
so  strict  a  business  man  as  Richard,  should 
not  be  more  explicit.  Now  of  course  / 
know  what  you  mean  :  but  a  stranger  would 
hardly  understood  whether  by  ^  can  you^ 
you  meant  '  are  you  able  to,'  or  '  is  such  a 
thing  possible '?" 


Wives  in  Exile 

A  shout  of  laughter  filled  the  cabin  with 
music. 

Polly  Jones  appeared  prompt  as  a  panto- 
mime imp, 

«  Yes,  'm  !  " 

"  Polly,  bring  me  the  log-book ;  there  it 
is,  on  the  bunker  yonder.  Thanks;  that 
will  do.  Be  off  with  you,  and  come  down 
and  let  us  know  the  moment  the  wind  fresh- 
ens or  veers.  And  now.  Honor,  excuse  me 
a  moment.  I  must  record  the  extraordinary 
effect  of  the  sea  upon  you." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  you  dear 
madcap?  " 

Mrs.  Wester  wrote  rapidly  with  a  pencil, 
and  then,  holding  the  book  to  one  side  with 
a  critical  air,  read  aloud  :  — 

*'  Stra?ige  Incarnation  of  the  G.  O.  M.  at 
sea  J" 

"In  reply  to  a  simple  question,  the  generally 
direct  and  simple  Captain  Honor  Adair 
spoke  so  much  in  the  manner  and  after  the 

method   of   Mr.  W m    E 1  G e 

{this  is  delicately  hinted,  I  think)  that  there 

can  be  no  question  as  to  her  having  been 

pro  tern,  an  actual  incarnation  of  that  mys- 

134 


Wives  in  Exile 

terious  and  occult  being,  the  G.  O.  M,  This 
comes  strangely  home  to  us,  after  our  re- 
cent scepticism  at  an  Esoteric  Buddhist's 
house,  where  we  had  coffee  and  psychology, 
morning  dress  at  8  p.m.,  and  a  drear  com- 
pany of  frumps  and  male  frights. 

"  I  shall  watch  further  developments  with 
interest,  if  not  without  anxiety,  and  shall 
communicate  the  results  to  the  Psychical 
Research  Society." 

"  Oh,  you  golden-haired,  darling  atrocity  ! 
I  warn  you,  I  '11  be  even  with  you  for  that ! 
Apologize  —  withdraw —  or,  or,  I  '11, 1  '11  —  " 

"What?" 

"Scandalize  you  as  well  as  the  mainsail !  " 

"  Ha,  ha,  Capting,  my  Capting !  Now  I 
have  you  !  Tell  me  straight,  can  yoii  scaji- 
dalize  the  mainsail?  " 

"Yes,  Nora,  I  can." 

"  You  can?     Well,  then,  how?  " 

"  By  compromising  its  relations  with  the 
flying  jib." 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Wester  was  non- 
plussed. There  was  an  air  of  assurance  in 
her  colleague's  voice.  Then  it  flashed  upon 
her. 

135 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Oh,  you  fraud,  you  fraud  !  How  dare 
you,  Honor,  impute  evil  ways  and  doings  to 
those  innocent  white  sails  !  I  ask  you,  you 
scaramouch,  how  dare  you?  " 

"  Well,  dear,  you  would  insist  on  my 
scandalizing  that  mainsail  somehow  or  other, 
and  I  could  n't  see  any  way  out  of  it  except 
by  implicating  that  respectable  party  in  a 
liaison  with  another  sail !  " 

"You  are  a  nice  person  to  go  to  sea  in  a 
yacht !  Now  tell  me.  Honor  dear,  are  n't 
you  glad,  are  n't  you  just  a  little  relieved  to 
find  that  you  are  with  some  one  who  knows 
so  much  about  sailing?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  am,  Nora." 

"Yes,  but  you  don't  look  it.  You  are 
laughing  behind  your  eyes  !  " 

"  Laughing,  darling  ?  Oh,  no,  no,  Leo- 
nora Wester,  I  am  not  laughing." 

"  Then  what  is  it  you  are  after?" 

"  How  dear  old  Ireland  survives  through 
the  veneer  of  American  civilization  !  Only, 
Captain  Wester,  you  should  say  phwat  am  I 
afther,  me  bhoy  !  " 

"  Me  gurl,  you  mane,  Kathy  acushla ! 
But  look  here  now.  Honor,  admit  you  are 
136 


Wives  in  Exile 

surprised,  and  that  you  had  no  idea  I  knew 
so  much  !  " 

"Indeed,  indeed,  I  am  surprised.  But  I 
am  glad,  very  glad.  For  I  want  to  learn. 
It  is  so  easy  to  scandalize  one's  friends  and 
relations,  but  who  of  us  can  scandalize  a 
mainsail  without  previous  knowledge  of 
marine  ethics  !  No,  dear,  far  from  mock- 
ing, I  am  eager  to  learn  from  you  See 
here  !  "  — 

—  As  she  spoke,  Honor  withdrew  from  a 
side  pocket  a  slip  of  paper  containing  sev- 
eral pencilled  memoranda. 

"What's  this,  dear?"  There  was  a  cer- 
tain solicitousness  in  Captain  Wester's  voice 
which  did  not  escape  her  colleague. 

"  Oh,  nothing  that  you  won't  be  able  to 
answer  straightaway.  But  first  they  are  mere 
nothings,  that  I  daresay  Polly  Jones  knows. 
I  am  so  ashamed  of  my  ignorance.  What 
puzzles  me  is  the  different  meanings  yachts- 
men attach  to  words  which  we  landlubbers 
(and  by  *  we  '  I  don't  mean  you,  of  course, 
dear  Leonora)  use  in  the  ordinary  way. 
Now,  what  is  an  earring,  a  guy,  a  bridle,  a 
bumpkin,  a  garboard  streak,  a  cringle,  a 
137 


Wives  in  Exile 

thimble,  a  crutch,  a  toggle,  a  tabernacle ; 
what  are  water-ways,  Umbers,  hounds,  coam- 
ings, channels,  battens,  and  gimbals  ;  what  is 
the  meaning  of  to  brail  and  to  bream,  to 
chock  a  block,  to  guy  a  mainboom,  to  house, 
to  mouse,  to  J^^,  and  to  jibe  ?  " 

Mrs.  Wester  had  grown  paler  as  this  cate- 
gory proceeded.  Often  she  had  heard  Rich- 
ard allude  to  "  a  dark  horse."  Was  Honor 
a  —  a  —  mare  of  that  particular  breed  ? 

She  pulled  herself  together.  Tabernacle 
and  thimbles,  bridles  and  earrings,  these  at 
least  were  inventions  of  captainly  malice  and 
jealousy. 

"  My  dear,  I  do  not  think  you  need  ask 
me  the  meaning  of  that  last  term.  To  jibe 
is  as  easy  to  do  on  a  yacht  as  on  land ;  at 
least  so  it  seems  to  me,  my  dear  Mrs.  Adair." 

Honor  remained  unmoved. 

"  However,"  she  resumed,  "  these  little 
matters  you  can  explain  to  me  at  your  leisure. 
What  I  should  like  to  know  at  once,  in  case 
—  eh  —  ah  —  the  weather  should  change 
suddenly — and  we  ought  to  be  prepared, 
of  course,  for  every  emergency  —  is  as  fol- 
lows :  very  ordinary  questions  they  will  seem 
138 


Wives  in  Exile 

to  you.  —  First,  then  :  what  is  the  actual  dif- 
ference between  '  bear  away '  and  '  bear 
up  '  ?  Again,  what  between  *  put  the  helm 
up'  and 'put  the  helm  down'?     H'm  !  " 

"  I  will  hear  you  out.  Honor,  before  I 
reply." 

"  Very  good.  How  would  you  advise  nie 
to  proceed  in  order  to  find  the  area  of  the 
jib-header,  of  the  spinnaker,  and  other  head 
sails?  " 

"  Go  on.  Honor,  I  am  listening." 

"  I  am  still  puzzled  about  sails.  In  the 
case  of  a  yawl  having  a  lug  mizzen,  what 
would  be  taken  as  the  upper  boundaries?  " 

Almost  did  Honor's  heart  relent.  Could 
these  be  tears,  the  bitter  dew  of  chagrin, 
coming  into  Captain  Wester's  blue  eyes? 

She  looked  away.  Then,  slowly,  she  with- 
drew another  sHp  of  paper  from  her  jacket 
pocket. 

"  Just  glance  at  this,  Nora,  like  a  dear." 

"What  is  it?" 

*'  Don't  look  at  it  so  fearfully  !  It  won't 
bite  ! " 

"  But  what  is  it  ?  What  are  these  horrid 
figures  about  ?  " 

139 


Wives  in  Exile 

« It  is  this :  — 

"  Supposing  a  vessel's  rating  is  x,  t,  the 
allowance  she  makes  per  knot  to  a  yacht 
whose     rating    is    /,    will    be   thus    found : 

/  =  360 —  .     The  result  is  the  allowance 

5  V-^ 
in  seconds.  As  the  allowance  is  calcu- 
lated for  one  knot,  the  allowance  for  another 
distance  will  be  found  by  multiplying  /  by 
the  length  of  the  course  in  knots.  To  calcu- 
late the  allowance  that  should  be  made  by 
one  yacht  to  another,  find  the  t,  as  above, 
for  both  yachts ;  subtract  the  lesser  from 
the  greater  /.  —  And  now,  Nora,  I  solemnly 
ask  you,  what  does  all  this  mean,  and  what 
happens  when  you  have  subtracted  all  the 
tea-leaves  from  the  tea,  —  no,  I  mean  the 
lesser  from  the  greater  //  " 

A  sob,  faint  but  audible,  broke  upon 
Honor's  ear. 

Captain  Wester  had  been  beaten  on  her 
own  ground,  or,  to  be  more  apt,  on  her  own 
water. 

"  Oh  Honor,  Honor,  it  is  n't  fair  !  It 
is  n't,  it  is  n't !  " 

"  What  isn't,  Nora  darling?  " 
140 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  O  don't  call  me  darling  !  I  hate  the 
word.  A  silly  synonym  for  little  goose,  that 
is  what  it  is  !  " 

«  But  —  darling  —  " 

"  There  you  go  again,  Honor  Adair ! 
Have  n't  I  just  told  you  that  darling  is  the 
same  as  goose,  —  as  goose,  I  tell  you  !  " 

"  I  never  heard  it  taken  in  that  way, 
Leonora." 

"  Honor,  sometimes  you  can  be  positively 
hatefiiU  Why  do  you  call  me  Leonora,  as 
formally  as  though  you  wore  a  white  choker 
and  were  acting  as  the  clergyman  at  my 
christening  !  " 

"  Well,  dear,  because  it  is  your  name. 
But  I  can  call  you  Mrs.  Wester  !  " 

"  You  know  you  dare  not,  except  in  fun." 

"  Well,  Captain  Wester,  then." 

"  No,  not  just  now ;  it  is  too  formal." 

"  O  well,  then,  Wester  simply." 

"  I  wish  Wilfrid  were  here  just  now,  He 
wouldn't  smile  as  you  are  doing  just  now. 
He—" 

"  No ;  I  know  what  he  would  be  saying." 

"What?" 

"  He  would  be  turning  to  Richard,  and 
141 


Wives  in  Exile 

saying  :  *  Confound  it,  Dick,  what  are  these 
two  donkeys  squabbling  about !  '  " 

At  this  Captain  Wester  turned  a  flushed 
eager  face  to  Captain  Adair.  A  rainbow 
gleam  was  in  her  eyes.  Hope  made  her  a 
girl  again.     Reconciliation  was  imminent. 

"  Honor,"  she  said  in  little  more  than  a 
whisper,  "  what  would  Richard  say  to  that?" 

"  Dearest,  he  would  say  in  his  dry  way : 
"  *  Let  'em  be,  Wilf.  Don't  you  know  they 
are  lovers,  and  that  this  is  only  a  lover's  tiff? 
The  only  real  cause  of  dispute  between  them 
is,  that  they  can't  make  up  their  minds  as  to 
who  loves  the  other  best !  ' " 

"  Bad  grammar.  Honor  acushla,  but  O  I 
am  so  glad  1  We  must  n't  quarrel,  dear ;  we, 
of  all  people  in  the  world." 

"  That  we  won't !  Not  that  I  ever  meant 
to,  you  sweetest  provokingest  donkey  that 
ever  was !  Only  I  knew  what  you  were  up 
to  —  so  I  coached  too,  Captain  Wester  — 
and,  and,  it  is  thinking  I  am  that  I  know 
just  about  as  much  and  just  about  as  little  as 
my  dear  and  worthy  Colleague  !  And  now 
we  '11  drop,  once  and  for  all,  all  that  silly 
jargon  !  " 

142 


Wives  in   Exile 

"  Voted  neni.  con  .'  Passed  in  Supply  ! 
Decree  nisi  /  " 

"  O  you  heavenly  silly  Honor,  let  me 
kiss  you." 

"  I  will.  I  am  not  proud,  nay  nor  miserly." 

"  Bah  !  Take  that  —  and  that  —  and 
that !  " 

"  One  word,  dear,  before  we  go  on  deck  !  " 

"Yes?" 

"  May  I  —  may  I  —  call  you  —  eh  —  a 
little  goose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  darling  !  " 


143 


CHAPTER   IX 

SO  came  and  went  the  only  fresh  breeze 
of  that  morning. 

The  wind,  which  had  freshened  for  a 
moment,  died  away.  An  exquisite  sapphire 
noon  was  slowly  wrought  out  of  the  blue  and 
gold.  There  was  just  breath  enough  to 
move  the  Belle  Atu'ore,  or  perhaps  it  was 
mainly  the  current  that  gave  movement 
enough  to  allow  the  helm  purchase. 

A  deep  content  fell  upon  all.  Forward, 
Polly  Jones  slept  upon  a  coil  of  rope,  into 
which  she  had  sunk  and  whence  only  her 
head  and  one  shoulder  emerged.  The  effect 
was  that  of  a  cobra  in  a  profound  snooze. 

The  crew  except  Mary  Murtagh,  who 
dozed  at  the  idle  wheel,  lay  here  and  there, 
too  lazy  and  too  comfortable  even  to  talk. 
First-Officer  Moriarty  sat  on  the  deck  with 
her  back  to  the  mast,  a  black  cutty  pipe  in 
144 


Wives  in   Exile 

her  mouth,  and  the  peace  that  passeth 
understanding  upon   her  face. 

Now  and  again,  she  indulged  in  a  mono- 
logue, or  addressed  a  casual  remark  to  Miss 
Macfee  or  to  O'Leary. 

"  Yiss,"  she  murmured  sleepily,  "  't  is  a 
cruel  onsartain  world  at  the  best  o'  times." 

The  remark  was  apposite  to  a  confidence 
from  Bridget  concerning  Denis  and  Phelim. 

"  That 's  the  wurrd,  Mrs.  Moriarty.  You 
are  a  woman  of  the  wurrld,  indade,  an'  no 
mhistake.  Onsartain ;  that 's  what  it  is,  an' 
that 's  what  I  sed  when  thim  twins  came. 
Who  's  to  know  that  two  pair  o'  little  shoes  is 
wanted  instead  o'  wan  pair  only,  as  is  usual 
in  the  way  o'   life  !  " 

"  It 's  right  you  are,  Bridget.  There  's  no 
knowin'  how  thim  things  is  managed.  It 's 
just  this,  as  me  ould  mother,  the  Sints  keep 
her,  used  to  say ;  if  you  want  thim,  you  can't 
get  thim ;  an'  if  you  don't  want  thim,  shure 
an'  they  '11  come  at  the  wrong  time,  or  like 
two  loaves  whin  you  know  you  han't  the 
change  to  pay  comfortable  for  wan." 

A  deep  sigh  followed.  Silence  reigned 
everywhere,  save  for  the  faint  wash  of  the 
^°  145 


Wives  in  Exile 

water  to  windward,  and  the  indeterminate 
whispering  sound  that  the  sea  utters  with  its 
innumerous  hushed  hps,  even  in  the  sleep  of 
a  dead  calm. 

Miss  Macfee  sat  bolt  upright,  with  her 
back  against  the  starboard  side  of  the  mast. 
In  her  lap  was  a  Bible.  Her  angular  face 
was  softened  as  she  gazed  into  the  blue  still- 
ness northward.  Perhaps  she  heard  in  her 
mind  the  bells  of  Greenock  summoning  the 
good  folk  to  the  kirk. 

Her  colleague  glanced  at  her.  A  genial 
soul  she  was,  this  Moriarty,  and  though  a 
Protestant  seemed  to  her  a  pig  without  a 
tail,  she  was  not  one  to  deny  that  good  bacon 
might  be  saved  and  cured  out  of  such  un- 
promising material. 

"Miss  Macfee,  would  ye  be  carin'  to  read 
us  somethin'  out  o'  the  Bible  ye  have 
there?" 

''Weel,  Mrs.  Moriarty,  I  hev  the  Book 
here,  for  it's  the  Sawbath-day;  and  yachts 
or  no  yachts,  swims  or  no  swims,  smokin'  an' 
idlin'  or  not,  it 's  ma  pleesure  an'  ma  duty 
to  see  to  ma  speeritual  welfare." 

"  An'  quite  right,  too.  Miss  Macfee.  But 
146 


'^  Wives  in  Exile 

as  it 's  the  Holy  Day,  an'  as  no  wan  here  is 
particular,  I  'm  shure  it  wud  be  a  pleasure  to 
hear  ye  read  us  a  bit.  As  for  that  innycent 
craytur,  Polly  Jones,  shure  it  won't  hurt  her, 
and  she  aslape  there,  just  like  ray  ould  tom- 
cat in  Cork,  sound  as  punch  till  ye  'd  be  for 
sayin'  milky 

"  It 's  na  my  place,  Mrs.  Moriarty.  I  ken 
my  place,  though  my  immortal  soul  is  my 
ain." 

"But  what  thin?" 

*'  It 's  a  sair  grief  tae  me  that  there  's  sae 
muckle  levity  aboard  this  yacht,  an'  on  the 
Sawbath-day.  I  had  hopit  there  would  be 
prayers,  as  on  all  ships  that  gae  doon  to  the 
sea." 

"  Shure  an'  it 's  aisy  to  ask  the  ladies. 
Jist  you  go  and  say  that  to  thim.  Miss 
Macfee." 

"Say  whet,  Mrs.  Moriarty?" 

"  That  it 's  wantin'  to  kape  the  Sabbath- 
day  holy  ye  are." 

"  Hoots,  mem,  they  're  probably  Papist 
bodies  like  yersel." 

"  Swate  crayturs,  both  av  thim." 

"  An'  forby  that,  it 's  no  inclined  I  am  to 
147 


Wives  in  Exile 

share  the  blessing  wi'  them  as  willna  tak  to 
it  by  grace  from  within," 

This  gave  subject  for  thought. 

Mrs.  Moriarty  sucked  at  her  cutty.  The 
blue  wreaths  of  smoke  ascended  like  incense 
from  that  pondering  brain.  "  I  'm  for  tellin' 
ye  phwat  I  think,  Miss  Macfee,"  she  said  at 
last,  in  a  slow  impressive  voice,  and  with  her 
gaze  corkscrewing  the  indolent  mind  of 
Bridget,  who  cared  more  to  talk  about  the 
twins,  than  about  any  religious  problem  that 
could  possibly  occur. 

"Weel,  mem?" 

"  Thim  blessins  that  are  meant  for  the  few 
are  jist  puff-tarts.  They  look  onticin'  in  the 
pasthry-cook's  windy,  but  when  ye  've  had 
'em  an'  it 's  all  over  ye  're  jist  where  ye  was. 
An  phwat 's  more ;  thim  swates  are  apt  to 
turn  the  stummick,  ye  get  so  fond  o'  your 
puff-tarts  that  ye  say  there 's  nothin'  else 
goin'  that  is  worth  havin'.  An'  all  the  toime 
we  're  just  as  happy,  an'  are  feedin'  up  in  our 
own  way.  Shure  enough,  wumman,  we  all 
get  to  the  praste  and  the  sexton  an'  the  wake 
an'  the  ghlory  whether  we  ate  puff-tarts  or 
onpretentious  praties  !  " 
148 


Wives  in   Exile 

"Aye,  Mrs.  Moriarty.  I  ken  weel  what 
ye  mean.  But  it 's  a  puir  dementit  mind  ye 
have  if  ye  think  ye  '11  get  to  what  in  yer 
heathen  papistical  way  ye  call  the  glory, 
except  by  faith." 

"  Faith  now,  here  's  a  divarsion  at  last. 
By  the  sovvl  o'  my  uncle  Tim  the  fiddler,  — 
God  rest  'im,  an'  a  good  man  he  was,  for  all 
he  died  from  makin'  love  too  long  to  the 
whiskey  bottle,  —  it 's  music  we  're  goin'  to 
have  ! " 

Miss  Macfee  turned  her  head.  After  all, 
perhaps  the  Captains  were  godly  folk. 

Alas,  it  was  a  guitar. 

Captain  Wester  was  the  culprit. 

It  was  evident  that  a  Sunday  service  was 
not  intended.  Miss  Macfee  sorrowed,  but  in 
her  heart  of  hearts  was  a  certain  curiosity. 
She  had  never  heard  a  guitar  played,  and 
knew  the  instrument  only  by  repute.  The 
Rev.  Peter  Macfee,  her  cousin  at  Greenock, 
had  spoken  of  it  once  as  an  ungodly  thing, 
attuned  to  Babylonish  music. 

When  the  first  few  notes  came  humming 
along  the  deck,  there  was  a  glad  movement, 
a  stir  of  expectation,  among  the  listeners. 

149 


Wives  in  Exile 

With  a  start,  Polly  Jones  awoke,  stumbled 
to  her  feet,  and  cried  shrilly,  "  Tes  'm  /  " 

"  Sit  down,  ye  ongainly  frog,"  said  Mrs. 
Moriarty,  severely,  as  she  knocked  the  ashes 
out  of  her  pipe,  and  prepared  to  relight,  on 
her  face  an  expression  of  sheer  content. 

On  a  low  deck-chair  Leonora  reclined,  the 
guitar  in  her  lap,  and  just  responsive  to  her 
slight  wandering  touches.  Honor  lay  on  a 
soft  bear-skin  rug,  her  hands  claspt  behind 
her  back  and  her  beautiful  eyes  fixt  upon  the 
abysses  of  that  deep  vault  wherein  the  other 
stars  were  invisible. 

It  was  as  though  the  sea's  thoughts  were 
moving  into  music.  Leonora  played  the 
guitar  as  though  it  were  her  voice  and  she  a 
born  singer.  Her  touch  vivified.  When,  at 
last,  she  broke  into  a  wild  plantation  melody, 
there  was  a  hush  on  board. 

Then,  abruptly,  she  passed  into  a  gay  little 
Spanish  dance,  wherein  the  twinkling  feet  of 
the  dancers  were  audible,  and  light  laughter, 
and  rhythmic  movement. 

"And  now,  Honor,  you  must  sing,"  she 
whispered,  as  she  struck  the  last  notes  of  an 
old  Irish  melody. 

150 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  sing,  Nora.  Be- 
sides, I  am  too  lazy." 

"  Nonsense.  Sing  that  song  of  your  own, 
the  one  Wilfrid  is  so  fond  of.  See,  here  is 
the  air  for  it." 

Whenever  Honor  sang,  those  who  did  not 
know  her  were  always  taken  by  surprise.  In 
her  voice  was  a  poignant  sweetness,  a  haunt- 
ing beauty  that,  as  Leonora  used  to  declare 
jokingly,  was  as  good  as  having  a  large  bank- 
account  in  reserve,  for,  as  she  would  add, 
"  Honor's  voice  is  made  up  of  notes  payable 
in  gold." 

Rising  till  she  supported  herself  on  her 
right  elbow,  she  began  her  song ;  soft  and 
low  at  first,  but  swelling  into  a  wonderfully 
full  and  rich  contralto. 

"  O  Day,  come  unto  me, 

Fair  and  so  sweet ! 
Crown'd  shalt  thou  be. 

And  with  wing'd  feet 
Escape  the  invading  sea, 
Whose  bitter  line 

Follows  o'er  fleet. 
What  joy  thou  would'st  is  thine  : 
Life  is  divine, 

O  Fair  and  Sweet  I 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Death  is  a  paltry  thought : 

A  little  troublous  thing  — 

An  insect's  sting ! 
Beautiful  Day,  oh,  heed  it  not  I 
Surely  I  hear  the  rumor  of  thy  feet, 

And  Death  is  vain  —  draw  near,  draw  near  !  — 
Alas,  and  is  it  so  ?     Farewell,  O  Fair  and  Sweet, 

For  Death  is  here." 

Not  a  sound  was  heard  as  she  finished. 
She  knew  well,  however,  that  every  one  on 
board  was  bewitched.  It  was  not  for  want 
of  experience  that  she  knew  how  she  could 
win  silence  and  tears  with  any  company. 

"  Honor,  dear,  sing  that  song  of  the  Roses. 
It  was  born  for  a  guitar.  I  know  just  the  air  for 
it.    Here  ...  is  not  that  right?    Do  sing  it." 

With  a  wonderful  high  sweet  lilt,  like  a 
mounting  bird,  the  sweet  voice  soared  above 
the  sunlit  water  with  the  sunswept  ocean-air. 

"  Roses,  roses, 
Yellow  and  red  ; 
A  rose  for  the  living, 
A  rose  for  the  dead ! 
Who  '11  sip  their  dew  ? 
There  are  only  a  few 
Of  the  yellow  and  red ; 
Youth  sells  its  roses 
Ere  youth  is  sped. 


Wives   in   Exile 

"  Roses,  roses, 
All  for  delight ; 
What  of  the  night  ? 
Hark,  the  tramp,  tramp, 
The  scabbard's  clamp. 
The  flaring  lamp  1 
Where  is  the  morning^ew  ? 
Ah,  only  a  few 

Drank  ere  the  yellow  and  red 
Lay  shrivelled,  shrivelled, 
Over  the  dead, 

"  Roses,  roses, 
Buy,  oh,  buy  1 
The  years  fly, 
'T  is  the  time  of  roses. 
Here  are  posies 
For  one  and  all, 
For  lovers  that  sigh 
And  for  lovers  that  die ; 
And  for  love's  pall 
And  burial  1 

"  Roses,  roses,  roses,  buy,  buy,  oh,  buy ! 
Why  delay,  why  delay,  roses  also  die. 

"  Pink  and  yellow,  blood-red,  snow-white : 
Roses  for  dayspring,  roses  for  night ! 

"  Buy,  buy,  oh,  my  roses  buy  I 
A  kiss  for  a  kiss,  and  a  sigh  for  a  sigh !  " 


Wives  in  Exile 

It  was  quite  impossible  for  discipline  to 
withstand  this  shower  of  roses. 

A  loud  round  of  clapping  came  from  the 
foredeck. 

Captain  Wester  glanced  forward,  and,  with 
a  smile,  nodded  appreciatively.  As  for 
Honor,  she  gave  a  pleased  little  laugh  and 
sank  back  on  her  bearskin. 

A  whispered  consultation  was  evidently 
going  on  forward. 

"  I  wonder  what  they  're  up  to,"  murmured 
Leonora,  low,  so  that  Murtagh  should  not 
overhear.  "  I  expect  they  want  something 
more.  After  all,  it 's  their  hohday,  too,  poor 
things.  And  then,  it 's  Sunday,  and  as  we  're 
having  no  prayers,  we  might  — 

"  Oh,  you  special  pleader  !  But  you  give 
them  a  negro  melody,  or  one  of  your  Spanish 
songs.  They  will  like  that  better,  unless  our 
friend  Macfee  thinks  them  too  ungodly  for 
the  Sabbath." 

"Ah,  I  forgot  all  about  dear  old  Macfee. 
Honor,  you  could  n't  rise  to  a  hymn  could 
you?  Surely  there's  something —  'How 
beautiful  upon  the  mountains,'  or  something 
or  other  —  that  would  fit  into  the  '  Wearin' 
154 


Wives  in  Exile 

o'  the    Green.'     I  'm    sure    that   would    do 
nicely." 

At  that  moment  Polly  came  aft  slowly. 
When  close  to  Mrs.  Wester,  she  stopped, 
blushed,  and  inarticulately  murmured. 

"  Please  'm,"  ! 

"Yes,  Polly?" 

"  Please  'm,  Capt'n  'm  !  Mrs.  Moriarty  an' 
the  rest  av  us,  I  mane  av  the  crew,  would 
be  takin'  it  kindly  if  you  an'  Mrs.  Captain 
Adair  would  be  givin'  us  some  more  music 
an'  singin'." 

"  What  does  Miss  Macfee  say?  " 

"Shure,  please  'm,  she  's  ready  to  hould  on." 

"  To  hold  on  ?  Oh,  very  well :  that 's  very 
kind  of  her  indeed." 

"  An'  please  'm,  she  said  if  there  was  a 
hymn  goin'  she  'd  be  plased  indade,  not 
manin'  any  liberty,  but  hopin'  it  might  be 
so.  An'  Mrs.  Moriarty,  'm,  she  'oped  it 
might  be  a  ballad,  she  did  :  for  her  uncle 
Tim,  she  sed,  was  that  fond  o'  ballads,  an' 
her  heart  melts,  an'  she  loves  the  guitar  the 
best  o'  all  the  instrymints  afther  the  fiddle." 

"AndLanigan?  And  O'Leary?  And  — 
eh  — and  Polly?" 

155 


Wives  in  Exile 

A  deeper  blush  than  ever  swept  over  the 
dear  dimpling  face. 

"  Oh,  indade,  'm,  it 's  not  for  the  likes  o' 
us  to  say." 

"Well,  go  back  and  say  that  we  haven't 
any  hymns,  but  we  '11  do  the  best  we  can  with 
another  song  or  two." 

"  Honor !  " 

"Yes?" 

"Do  give  them  that  song  you  sang  and 
shocked  the  Reverend  James  with  one  Sun- 
day evening,  when  he  thought  you  were 
going  to  sing  an  anthem  ! " 

"Which  one?  Oh,  yes,  I  know;  'Tim 
Ryan  ! '  Well,  here  goes.  Play  the  air  of 
'  The  Pigs  of  Ballyshannon.'  " 

And  with  that  Captain  Adair,  with  a  deep 
rich  brogue  and  long  drawl  or  short  catch, 
accompanied  the  thrumming  of  the  guitar,  — 

"  Ah,  sure  my  heart  is 
Set  on  Tim  Ryan ! 
Oh,  if  only  he  knew 
I  was  dyin' ! 

Dyin'  for  love  o'  him, 
Ongrateful,  hardhearted, 
Who  cares  not  a  pin 
That  we  're  severed  an'   parted  ! 

156 


Wives  in  Exile 

*"Tis  a  curse  on  the  men, 

It 's  little  they  need  us  I 
If  we  sob  they  grow  duaf, 

Though  laugh  an'  they  '11  heed  us  ! 
Oh,  Tim  Ryan, 
Is  it  blind  you  be 
Not  to  know  I'm  dyin' 
For  love  o'  thee  ? 

"Oh,  acushla,  asthore, 

Dear  Tim,  is  that  you  now  ? 
I  thought 't  was  the  hen 
Or  Peggy  the  cow  ! 
Sure  is  that  true 
That  'tis  you  that's  dyin' 
An'  all  for  to  make  me 
Mrs.  Tim  Ryan? 

"Oh,  faith,  thin,  be  aisy  ! 

There 's  time  an'  to  spare  I 
Lave  off,  now,  Tim, 

Lave  smoothin'  my  hair ! 

Oh,  well,  yes,  't  is  laughin' 
I  was  with  my  dyin'  — 
Still,  I  'm  thinkin'  I'  11  be 
Mrs.  Ryan  ! " 

Delight  greeted  this  song.     Miss  Macfee 
remained  unmoved,  or  moved  only  to  silent 
regret.    Surely  the  Sabbath  was  made  for  other 
matters  than  the  courtin'  of  Tim  Ryan  ! 
157 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Oh,  do  give  us  one  more  song,  Honor 
dear !  It 's  too  lovely  to  lie  here  in  this 
glorious  sunshine  and  sweet  air,  —  just  to  lie 
and  hear  you  sing." 

"  Let  it  be  one,  then.  And  a  sad  one, 
after  the  happiness  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tim 
Ryan  !  " 

The  song  that  Honor  sang  now  was  to  a 
low  and  wailing  air,  sad  as  twilight  at  sea. 

"  The  moonwhite  waters  wash  and  leap, 

The  dark  tide  floods  the  Coves  of  Crail ; 
Sound,  sound  he  lies  in  dreamless  sleep, 
Nor  hears  the  sea-wind  wail. 

"  The  pale  gold  of  his  oozy  locks 

Doth  hither  drift  and  thither  wave ; 
His  thin  hands  plash  against  the  rocks, 
His  white  lips  nothing  crave. 

"  Afar  away  she  laughs  and  sings 

A  song  he  loved,  a  wild  sea-strain,  — 
Of  how  the  mermen  weave  their  rings 
Upon  the  reef-set  main. 

"  Sound,  sound  he  lies  in  dreamless  sleep, 
Nor  hears  the  sea-wind  wail. 
Though  with  the  tide  his  white  hands  creep 
Amid  the  Coves  of  Crail.  " 


Wives  in   Exile 

After  that  there  was  silence  again.  In  the 
noon-heat,  Mary  Murtagh  drowsed  at  the 
wheel ;  the  crew  slumbered,  save  First-Offi- 
cer Macfee,  who  read  diligently.  Honor 
dreamed,  with  sleepy  eyes  watching  the 
vibrations  of  light  in  the  blue  sky.  A  soft 
low  snore  came,  intermittently,  from  Captain 
Wester. 


159 


CHAPTER  X 

EIGHT  bells  ! 
Noon !        Was     it     noon     already? 
Golden  hours,  shod  with  silence,  how  they 
slip  by  almost  unnoted,  unheard. 

"  If  you  plase,  mum  !  " 

The  voice  was  that  of  Mrs.  Moriarty. 

"  If  you  plase,  Capt'n  Adair." 

<'Yes,  Moriarty?" 

"  There  's  a  shaddy  comin'  up  out  o'  the 
south.  I  've  seen  the  same  too  often,  whin 
I  was  aboard  that  Calcutty  boat  I  sailed  in 
as  stewardess,  before  I  met  Moriarty.  It 's 
in  the  Chiney  say  I  'm  manin.'  " 

"  What 's  the  shadow  doing  there?  " 

"  It 's  not  what  it  's  doin'  there,  Mrs. 
Adair,  mum,  —  Capting,  I  should  say,  —  but 
what  it  will  be  manin'  to  do  here." 

"  Do  you  think  it  means  a  change? " 

"  I  do,  an'  a  bad  wan  at  that." 
i6o 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  H'm,  —  Mrs.  Moriarty,  is  luncheon  nearly 
ready?  In  half  an  hour  you  say?  Well,  let 
us  have  it  as  soon  as  you  can.  We  may  as 
well  have  it  first,  and  tackle  that  shadow 
afterwards." 

"  Nora,  do  you  hear  that  about  the 
shadow?" 

"  I  do,  but  it 's  probably  only  a  passing 
thunder-cloud.     The  glass  is  right  enough." 

"  I  expect  we  '11  have  a  breeze  all  the 
same,  —  a  stiff  one,  I  mean.  Moriarty 
really  knows  a  good  deal,  and  I  could  see 
she  thinks  we  are  going  to  have  a  change." 

"  Well,  Honor,  you  have  done  the  very 
best  thing  you  could ;  namely,  to  order 
luncheon,  and  leave  the  shadow  alone,  mean- 
while." 

But  the  shadow  —  as  shadows  will  at  sea 
—  did  not  care  to  be  left  to  itself. 

While  the  two  captains  lingered  over  their 
coffee  and  fruit,  it  widened  and  darkened, 
and  crept  rapidly  northward.  Its  dusky 
feet  were  stealthily  approaching  the  Belle 
Aurore. 

"  Hark  !  "  exclaimed  ]\Irs.  Wester,  sud- 
denly. "  Do  you  hear  that,  Honor  ?  "  It 
"  i6i 


Wives  in  Exile 

was  a  soughing  wail  o'  the  wind,  low  but 
ominous. 

"  Yes.  And  there 's  rain  in  that,  too. 
We  'd  better  put  on  our  pilot-coats." 

The  precaution  was  advisable.  When 
they  came  on  deck,  the  whole  scene  had 
changed. 

The  sea  was  still  quite  calm,  but  the  blue 
had  gone  out  of  it.  Wherever  it  was  not  of 
a  slaty  hue,  it  was  green,  in  places  vividly 
green.  Here  and  there  patches  of  a  livid 
color  were  interspersed. 

The  air,  too,  had  suddenly  grown  still,  — 
damp  with  the  breath  of  coming  rain.  Out 
of  the  white  glare  in  the  south,  long  films  of 
almost  impalpable  mist  extended  across  the 
sky.  The  further  ends  of  these  were  ser- 
rated and  fringed. 

"It's  a  thunder-burst,  I  think,  Honor," 
said  Leonora  uneasily,  as  she  moved  rest- 
lessly up  and  down  the  deck,  looking  now 
at  the  compass,  now  at  the  flapping  sails. 

"  I  expect  it 's  more  than  that.     Look  at 

the  edges  of  that  whiteness  down  there  in 

the  southwest.     I  daresay   Moriarty  's  right. 

Besides,  the  glass  is  now  falling  steadily.     It 

162 


Wives  in  Exile 

has  been  falling  since  the  forenoon,  I  've  just 
discovered ;  the  reason  why  I  thought  it  was 
steady  was  because  the  signal- hand  had  been 
moved  by  Polly  Jones." 

"  Well,  there  's  one  consolation ;  the  wind 
will  take  us  on  a  right  tack.  Do  you  know 
—  Honor  —  " 

"What?" 

"  Well,  do  you  know,  it 's  a  little  -foolish  of 
us  not  to  have  waited  for  a  really  good 
breeze,  —  one  that  would  have  taken  us  over 
to  the  Scottish  coast  in  no  time." 

"  Oh,  we  '11  be  there  soon  enough.  We 
ought  to  sight  Ailsa  Craig  this  evening,  — 
sooner,  if  a  heavy  spurt  of  wind  comes  on." 

"  H'm,  I  hope  we  won't  sight  it  in  a  driv- 
ing squall,  and  just  ahead  of  us  !  " 

"  Thank  goodness,  dear,  both  Moriarty 
and  Macfee  are  trustworthy  enough.  For 
all  their  ignorance  of  some  matters,  they 
have  both  been  to  sea  a  good  deal,  and  as 
Harry  assured  us,  really  do  know  something 
about  sailing  small  craft.  And  then,  —  well, 
they  don't  suffer  from  seasickness." 

"  But  you  don't  either,  you  told  me, 
Honor?" 

163 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  N  —  n  —  no.     Nor  you?" 

"  Oh,  no." 

But  even  as  they  chatted,  the  imminent 
squall  came  nearer  and  nearer.  A  faint 
humming  sound  could  be  heard  away  in  the 
southwest.  The  horizon  seemed  to  have 
lifted  itself  into  a  dark  line.  This  line  con- 
stantly spilled  over  in  a  thin  wavy  whiteness. 
As  Honor  and  Leonora  watched,  they  could 
see  this  white  lip  moving  nearer. 

Mrs.  Moriarty  came  up,  touching  her  felt 
cap. 

"  She  's  a  good  boat,  the  Bell  Hooroar, 
Capting  Wester,  mum,  an'  Capting  Adair; 
so  you  need  n't  be  mindin'  that  squall, 
though  it 's  more  than  a  squall  it  '11  be." 

"  Why,  will  it  be  a  storm?  " 

"  It  '11  blow  hard  annyway.  A  squall,  an' 
then  a  squall  on  the  back  o'  that,  an'  then  a 
blow,  an'  a  bigger  blow  !  That 's  what  it  '11 
be.  I  know  thim  summer  storms  that  come 
out  o'  the  south." 

"  Do  you  advise  anything?  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  Capting  Wester.  I  'd  advise 
ye  to  be  aisy  about  the  sail  we  carry. 
There  's  a  good  deal  more  on  her  now  than 
164 


Wives  in  Exile 

the  Hooroar  '11  stand,  —  an'  the  less  the 
better,  as  Moriarty  used  to  say  av  thim  im- 
moral bally-dances  at  the  Royal  Cork  The- 
ayter." 

"  Well,  do  as  you  think  best.  Hillo  — 
that 's  strange  ;  there  's  not  only  a  swell,  but 
a  short  choppy  sea  on,  and  yet  there  's  no 
wind  to  speak  of." 

"True,  for  you,  Capting  Wester,  mum. 
That's  the  way  it  comes  whin  it 's  going  to 
blow:' 

"  She  '11  have  her  nose  in  that  choppy 
water  before  long,"  Honor  interrupted,  with 
a  warning  gesture.  "  Had  n't  we  better  shift 
the  jib,  and  reef  the  bowsprit?  That  '11  save 
the  weight  at  her  bows." 

"  Aye,  aye,  mum." 

Almost  without  a  moment's  warning  a 
squall  leaped  across  the  water,  and  sprung 
at  the  sails  of  the  Belle  Aiirore. 

The  yacht  reeled  under  the  impact,  and 
then  righted,  shivering  all  over. 

"  Now  then,  let  go  the  outhaul,"  shouted 

Mrs.  Moriarty.    "  That 's  right !   Look  alive, 

Lanigan,  and  let   go  these  halyards  —  look 

out,  look  out  there  —  keep  the  sail  down  on 

165 


Wives  in  Exile 

deck  to  leeward  of  the  mainsail !  O'Leary, 
you  help  Lanigan  to  reef  the  bowsprit. 
Polly,  you  cut  along  with  O'Leary,  and  un- 
toggle  the  sheets,  unhook  the  tack  and 
head  from  the  outhaul  and  halyards,  and 
fasten  tight  to  the  cleats  !  Miss  Macfee, 
put  the  helm  up,  and  let  us  run  before 
the  wind." 

"Aye,  aye,  mum." 

It  was  thus  that  Mrs.  Moriarty  proved  she 
was  really  first-officer.  Miss  Macfee  herself 
admitted,  in  the  privacy  of  her  thoughts,  that 
one  could  have  done  no  better;  indeed, 
that,  in  an  emergency  like  a  squall  she  could 
not  have  skippered  so  well. 

"  Slack  off  the  lee-runner  !  Look  out, 
there  !  Here  's  a  squall  comin'  !  Miss  Mac- 
fee,  you  come  here,  plase  an'  lind  a  hand. 
Capting  Adair,  mum,  an'  Capting  Wester, 
plase  God  by  takin'  that  wheel  an'  kapin'  us 
as  stiddy  as  a  bathing-machine  on  the 
sands." 

With  the  sudden  onrush  of  the  squall  the 
water  seemed  to  rise  up  all  round  the  Belle 
Aurore,  which  was  now  surging  heavily  for- 
ward.    The   lee  gunwale   leant  over  further 
i66 


Wives  in  Exile 

and  further,  and  the  spray  flew  hissing  from 
just  beneath  it. 

"  Quick  there,  yon  haythen  divils  !  Trice 
up  the  tack  an'  lower  the  peak  !  " 

While  this  was  being  done,  Mrs.  Wester 
turned  with  a  furtive  smile  to  her  com- 
panion. 

"  So,  after  all,  we  are  learning  what  it  is 
to  scandalize  the  mainsail !" 

"  Are  we,  dear !  then  the  sooner  this 
scandal  is  disproved  the  better  !  Oh,  there 
it  comes,  worse  than  ever  !    Ugh  !  " 

The  last  exclamation  was  because  of  a 
sudden  flaunt  of  a  wave  over  the  stern,  with 
a  shower  of  spray  right  over  Honor's  shoul- 
ders and  down  her  shivering  neck. 

"  We  '11  'av'  to  sail  under  the  foresail  only, 
Captings,  if  this  goes  on,  —  that,  an'  just  a 
suspicion  o'  the  mainsail." 

"  As  you  like,  Mrs.  Moriarty." 

"  As  you  will,  Mrs.  Moriarty." 

Who  says  there  cannot  be  unanimity  be- 
tween two  captains  on  board  one  vessel? 

The  Belle  Aiirore  now  began  to  feel  the 
jump  of  the  sea.  Neither  Honor  nor  Leo- 
nora had  had  much  experience  in  steering, 
167 


Wives  in  Exile 

save  in  smaller  boats,  and  they  gave  too  many 
hostages  to  fortune. 

The  sea  had  risen  with  extraordinary 
rapidity.  A  loud  and  increasing  splashing 
was  heard  everywhere,  as  the  waves  slapped 
each  other  noisily.  The  wind  had  a  howl 
in  its  shrill  music.  All  the  sky  now  was 
white  and  grey,  except  westward,  where 
heavy  bulbous  black  clouds  impended  and 
seemed  overcharged  with  rain,  thunder,  and 
pent  wind-bursts.  It  was  one  of  those  sud- 
den storms  that  sweep  up  the  Irish  Channel, 
—  violent  eddies,  often,  from  some  heavy 
Atlantic  gale  sweeping  past  the  Old  Head 
of  Kinsale  but  keeping  seaward  as  long  as 
the  Irish  coast  lay  a-lee. 

"  Honor,"  cried  Leonora,  between  two 
swirling  gusts  of  wind,  that  made  the  yacht 
spring  forward  as  though  she  were  a  high- 
bred lashed  by  a  whip  :  "  Honor,  what  was 
it  that  Jacob  Macmasters  said  about  the 
Belle  Aurore  kicking  up  her  heels?" 

"  I    don't   remember,    dear ;    but    if    she 
won't  do  more  than  kick  up  her  heels  I  '11 
be  glad.     I  'm  afraid  she  is  going  in  for  an 
abandoned  skirt-dance." 
i68 


Wives   in   Exile 

"  That  wretched  man  said  something  about 
her  rolling  powers?  I  'm  bound  to  say  that 
she  seems  to  me  to  be  giving  way  to  that  weak- 
ness more  than  there  's  any  need  for.     Oh  /" 

A  lurch  had  precipitated  one  captain 
against  the   other. 

Honor  noticed  that,  despite  the  fresh 
wind  and  the  flying  sea-spray,  Leonora  was 
rather  white.  Furtively  she  rubbed  her  own 
cheeks.  "  What 's  the  matter,  there  ?  "  she 
cried,  anxiously,  as,  just  then,  Lanigan's  tall 
bony  figure  lumped  across  just  aft  the  mast, 
—  with  what  seemed  the  corpse  of  one  of  the 
crew  hanging  limply  to  right  and  left  of  her. 

"  It 's  Polly  Jones,  plase  yer  honors.  She  's 
as  sick  as  a  biled  owl  ahlready,  drat  her  !  " 

"  Oh,  poor  child  !  See  that  she  has  some- 
thing, Lanigan  !  " 

"  I  will  that,  by  all  the  Sints,"  Lanigan 
muttered :  "  I'll  see  she  gets  the  best  skelp- 
ing  she  's  had  since  she  slipt  with  a  pittycut, 
if  she  's  sick  while  I  'm  carrying  her  !  " 

But  alas,  the  time  was  at  hand  when  no 
kindly  offices   were  to  be  thought  of,  when 
the  world  would  shrink  to  the  blank  indiffer- 
ence of  individual  misery. 
169 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Honor,  dearest,"  —  ah,  the  tremulous- 
ness  of  the  captainly  voice  which  had  made 
so  brave  a  show  that  morning,  with  sea-lore 
wonderful !  —  "  Honor,  dearest  ?  " 

"Yes,  Nora?" 

"  Dear,  are  you  sure  you  should  n't  go 
below?  You  —  you  —  don't  look  quite 
yourself;  and  of  course  this  rolling  and 
tossing  t's  a  little  trying." 

*'  Oh,  thank  you,  Nora  —  I  —  I  /ike  it." 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  came  into  the  wan 
face  of  Captain  Wester.  The  opportunity 
that  had  come  was  too  good  to  be  lost. 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  of  that.  For  I  am  rather 
—  eh  —  rather  cold,  and  think  I  '11  go  below 
just  to  put  on  some  warmer  clothes." 

But  she  was  forestalled. 

Miss  Macfee  had  seen  how  matters  stood, 
and  had  come  to  the  rescue.  Honor  had 
succumbed ;  abruptly,  without  thought  of 
captainly  dignity,  Leonora,  the  crew,  the 
yacht's  fate,  her  own  life  or  death,  Wilfrid's 
happuiess,  the  end  of  the  world,  the  last 
trump,  and  the  saving  of  her  immortal 
soul. 

Pride,  combined  with  the  absolute    need 
170 


Wives  in  Exile 

to  stand  by  the  helm  till  Miss  Macfee  —  who 
was  acting  Samaritan  to  the  prostrate  Honor 

—  returned  from  the  cabin,   sustained  Mrs. 
Wester. 

With  weary  eyes  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
what  looked  a  small  black  cloud  rising  out 
of  the  sea,  far  to  the  northward. 

"What  is  that?"  she  cried,  gaspingly,  to 
Mrs.  Moriarty,  who  passed  near  at  that  mo- 
ment, proud  of  her  sea-legs,  her  knowledge 
of  what  to  do,  and  of  the  magnificent  con- 
fidence in  her  of  all  on  board. 

"  That,  Capting?     That 's  Ailsa  Craig." 

**  Oh,  then  we  '11  soon  be  in?  " 

"  In,  mum?     In  where?  " 

"  Oh,  wherever  we  're  going  to,  you  silly 
woman." 

"  Silly  woman,  indade  !  Bedad,  —  ah,  I 
see,  por  thing  !  It 's  onaisy  you  're  begin- 
ning to  feel.    Ah,  Miss  Macfee,  there  you  are  ! 

—  just  give  a  hand  here  to  the  Capting  — 
I  '11  see  to  the  steerin'  !  " 

And   with  that.  Captain  AVester  was    half 
guided,   half  lifted   to   the  cabin,  where  al- 
ready the  groans  of  Captain  Adair  suggested 
the  terrors  of  martyrdom. 
171 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Are  you  ill,  dear  ?  are  you  very  ill  ?  " 
gasped  Leonora,  solicitously. 

"  No  —  no  —  not  at  all ;  but  I  've  a  head- 
ache, a  splitting  headache  !  " 

*'  Oh,  so  have  I,"  and  with  that  Mrs. 
Wester  flung  herself  on  the  cabin  sofa,  too 
wretched  even  to  attempt  to  reach  her  bunk. 

Unfortunately,  Mrs.  Moriarty  proved  a  true 
prophet.  The  squall  passed,  but  only  to  be 
followed  immediately  by  one  still  more  severe. 
Within  an  hour  the  thunder-clouds  came  up, 
and  with  them  the  gale. 

The  yacht  was  now  in  the  trough  of  the 
seas  and  rolled  heavily.  Not  even  the  skilled 
steering  of  Bridget  O'Leary,  who  had  man- 
aged sloop,  coble,  or  wherry  in  many  a  rough 
sea  off  Queenstown  and  down  by  Kinsale, 
could  save  the  Be//e  Aurore  from  some  bad 
plunging. 

By  the  late  afternoon  half  the  crew  were 
ill. 

Fortunately,  Mrs.  Moriarty,  Miss  Macfee, 
and  O'Leary  were  able  to  brave  it  out. 
Doubtless  the  certainty  that  the  yacht  would 
founder  if  ^/ley  gave  in,  helped  to  keep  them 
in  good  heart.  But  with  Lanigan,  Murtagh, 
172 


Wives  in  Exile 

and  Polly  Jones  incapacitated,  and  Miss 
Macfee  herself  grimly  wretched,  there  was 
no  one  to  attend  to  the  captains. 

For  a  long  time  Honor  and  Leonora  suf- 
fered in  silence,  except  for  expressive  moans. 

Courage,  however,  came  to  Mrs.  Adair 
through  sheer  desperation.  With  a  great 
effort  she  rose,  staggered  across  the  cabin, 
and  was  half  way  up  the  stairs  when  she  saw 
the  oilskinn'd  bulk  of  Mrs.  Moriarty  looming 
across  the  wet  and  stormy  sky. 

"  O,  Mrs.  Moriarty,"  she  cried  pitifully, 
"  are  we  near  anywhere  ?  " 

"Yes,  Capting,  darlint,  but  don't  worry 
your  poor  silf." 

"  But  where  are  we  ?  " 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  we  're  jist  off  Ailsa 
Craig;  and  a  pretty  stiff  gale  it  is." 

"  Oh,  land  us  there  !  that  will  do  nicely  !  " 

"  Land  ye  on  Ailsa  Craig  !  Faith,  Cap- 
ting  Adair,  mum,  if  ye  were  birds  we  could 
hardly  land  ye  !  It 's  only  a  rock  it  is,  with 
foothold  for  a  rabbit  or  two." 

"  But  is  there  no  port  near?  " 

"  Well,  yis,  indade  there  is ;  there  's  Ayr 
an'  Troon,  an'  if  we  keep  on  as  we  're  goin' 
173 


Wives  in   Exile 

now,  we  might  sail  up  the  High  Street  of 
Ardrossan." 

"  Oh,  Ardrossan.  Yes,  yes,  let  us  go 
there.  That  is  the  place  where  we  meant 
to  write  from." 

"  Ye  may  mean  it,  mem,"  broke  in  Miss 
Macfee,  turning  a  white  grim  face  upon  her 
fellow-sufferer;  ''  but  it 's  no  Ardrossan  ye  '11 
be  seein'  this  night,  I  '11  warrant." 

"  Why  not,  woman?" 

"  Weel,  mem,  ye  maun  just  as  weel  speak 
ceevil  tae  a  body  who  's  nigh  as  far  gone  wi' 
the  sickness  as  yersel." 

When  angered.  Miss  Macfee  dropped  into 
a  broader  Scotch  than  usual,  and  her  tones 
became  hard.  But  now  there  was  excuse 
for  her.  To  be  sea-sick,  and  to  be  asked  an 
unreasonable  question,  and,  above  all,  to  be 
called  a  "  woman,"  —  that  might  well  try  the 
patience  of  a  saint,  even  of  a  good  Pres- 
byterian one. 

But  Honor  was  also  at  her  last  gasp.  She 
could  stand  no  more.  With  a  groan  she 
lapsed  from  her  hold  of  the  stair-rail,  swung 
round,  collided  with  the  sofa  whereon  Leo- 
nora lay  yearning  for  home,  her  husband, 
174 


Wives  in   Exile 

and  her  child,  and  fell,  at  last,  inert  and  in 
utter  collapse,  upon  her  bunk. 

She  brought  with  her,  however,  a  breath 
of  the  fresh  salt  air.  Momentarily  revived, 
Leonora  likewise  took  heart.  Alas,  though 
she  actually  staggered  as  far  as  the  wheel, 
the  result  was  the  same,  and  even  more  ex- 
peditiously. Still,  she  succeeded  in  learning 
from  Miss  Macfee  that  with  the  gale  blowing 
from  the  quarter  it  was,  the  yacht  would  not 
be  able  to  make  for  Ardrossan.  The  desti- 
nation now  was  Lamlash  Bay,  in  the  Isle  of 
Arran. 

With  the  hope  that  that  goal  would  be 
reached  in  an  hour  or  two  both  adventurers 
plucked  up  a  little  heart.  Naturally  a  little 
recrimination  embittered  the  interjaculations 
which  did  duty  for  conversation. 

"  But  Leonora,"  —  began  Honor,  after  a 
short  lapse  wherein  both  had  other  matters 
to  think  of. 

"  Oh,  what  is  it  now.  Honor?  " 

"  Leonora,  if  as  you  say  you  are  not  really 
seasick,  can't  you  do  something?  " 

"  Can't  I  do  something?  O  Honor  !  " 

"  Yes,    I    repeat ;    can't    you    do    some- 
175 


Wives  in  Exile 

thing  —  do  something?  Can't  you  lash  the 
helm?" 

''Lash  the  helm,  Honor  Adair?  Why  I 
tell  you  it 's  been  trying  to  lash  me  !  " 

A  deep  groan,  of  suffering,  not  of  sym- 
pathy, was  the  sole  response. 

"  Honor  ! " 

"O  what  is  it?  Why  don't  you  go  away? 
Why  don't  — " 

"I  —  I  —  am  so  —  so  —  so  tired —  so  tired, 
I  say,  that —  " 

"  Once  and  for  all,  Leonora,  understand 
that  I  will  not  get  up,  —  not  though  you  were 
the  Last  Trump  !  " 

With  a  sob  Mrs.  Wester  buried  her  face  in 
the  sofa-pillow. 

"  You  might  at  least  say  I  was  —  hie -ugh  t 
—  say  I  was  —  " 

"  I  '11  say  anything,  Nora  darling,  if  only 
you'll  get  me  some  hot  tea." 

"  Hot  tea  !  —  and  a  moment  ago  you 
called  me  the  Last  Trump  !  " 

"  No,  no,  Nora  dear,  —  the  Angel  that 
blew  the  last  trump  !  " 

"  Well,  all  I  can  say  is  that  if  that  last 
trump  comes  to  us  at  sea,  I  hope  there  won't 
176 


Wives  in  Exile 

be  as  much  blow  along  with  it  as  there  is  at 
present !  " 

"  O  Leonora,  if  you  can  joke  —  and  make 
such  a  wretched,  wretched  pun  —  I  —  " 

"  How  could  it  help  being  wretched,  when 
/am  wretched?" 

But  here  an  interruption  occurred,  in  the 
shape  of  a  wild  yell  from  the  stentorian 
throat  of  Bridget  O'Leary,  who  was  still  at 
the  helm. 

"Man  overboard!'''' 

"  O  how  dreadful  1  "  Honor  cried,  as  she 
staggered  to  her  feet,  her  eyes  filled  with 
horror.  "  O  Nora,  who  can  it  be  ?  This  is 
a  horrible  end  to  our  trip.  Quick,  get  up, 
dear  !     We  must  give  all  the  help  we  can  !  " 

"  Yes  —  yes  —  but  one  moment,  darling. 
There  's  no  man  to  go  overboard." 

"Ah  —  I  never  thought  of  that  —  but 
Bridget  must  simply  have  used  the  phrase  — 
Oh,  be  quick  —  and  let  us  help  each  other 
to  go  on  deck  !  " 

As  they  mounted,  the  keen  air  revived 
them  somewhat.  The  dreadful  fear,  too,  at 
their  hearts  drove  sickness  out  of  their 
minds. 

12  177 


/ 


Wives  in   Exile 

Who  could  live  in  that  wild  sea,  thrashed 
with  foam  as  it  was,  and  covered  with  whirl- 
ing waves  like  leaping  wolves  ?  Even  if  the 
poor  woman  —  or  was  it  the  girl  Polly  ?  — 
could  swim,  there  would  be  no  hope,  with 
the  yacht  going  before  the  wind  like  a  grey- 
hound ! 

The  first  thing  they  saw  was  Bridget's  face, 
with  the  tears  streaming  from  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  what  is  it  —  who  is  it,  O'Leary?" 
cried  Honor,  gaspingly. 

*^  Drowned — drowned^''  wailed  Bridget, 
while  she  struggled  with  the  helm. 

"  Is  it  Miss  Macfee  ?  O  yes,  it 's  poor  dear 
Miss  Macfee  —  I  don't  see  her  anywhere  ! 
Mrs.  Moriarty  —  Mrs.  Moriarty  !  —  is  it  Miss 
Macfee  that  is  drowned,  is  it  Miss  Macfee 
that  has  fallen  overboard?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,  Capting  Adair,  mum.  Miss 
Macfee  is  jist  av  the  idge  av  a  tumbler  o' 
steamin'  'ot,  without  sugar  an'  a  slice  o' 
lemon." 

Mrs.  Wester  javelined  the  unfeeling  wretch 
with  her  gaze. 

"  Indade,  Capting  Wester,  mum,  ye  naden  't 
be  looking  at  me  like  that.  There  's  no  great 
178 


Wives  in  Exile 

harm  done  at  all  at  all,  except  to  the  poor 
baste  that 's  drowned,  God  save  the  soul  av 
him  !  " 

"  Him  —  him  —  Oh,  was  there  a  man  on 
board  after  all?     Is  it  Jacob  Macmasters?  " 

"  Hould  hard,  Capt'n  Wester,  or  you  '11  be 
blown  into  the  say  !  See  here,  Capting  dar- 
lint,  excusin'  the  liberty, — jist  claw  on  to 
me,  as  though  you  were  a  young  lobster  at 
its  first  tay-party  and  feelin'  shy  av  all  the 
big  crabs  an'  the  loike." 

"  O  Mrs.  Moriarty,  what  is  this  awful  mys- 
tery? Don't  joke  about  it.  Tell  us  what 
it  is  !  Who  has  been  swept  into  a  watery 
grave?  " 

"  Well,  indade,  my  dear,  it 's  just  May- 
phisty  !  " 

"  Who,  Mrs.  Moriarty?" 

"Jist  the  cat,  darlint.  Come  now,  Mrs. 
Adair,  mum,  ye  're  not  fit  to  be  up  here  ye 
are,  and  ye  sick  as  a  pleeceman  when  he 
sees  the  mad  bull  comin'  out  av  the  chaney- 
shop." 

"Just  the  cat.     O  Honor  !     Just  the  —  " 

And  with  that,  Captain  Wester  went  into 
hysterics. 

179 


Wives  in  Exile 

Choking  with  laughter,  out  of  sheer  relief, 
and  filled  with  anxiety  for  Leonora,  Honor 
forgot  all  about  her  sickness.  By  the  time 
her  dear  colleague  was  brought  round,  she 
was  still  weak  and  staggery,  but  was  able  to 
look  about  her  without  nausea,  and  even 
able  to  inhale  the  salt  breath  of  the  foam- 
white  sea. 

Besides,  a  glance,  and  a  word  from  Mrs. 
Moriarty  encouraged  her. 

Arran  was  within  sight.  The  island  lay,  a 
huge  black  splatch,  well  to  leeward ;  but,  so 
Mrs.  Moriarty  said,  they  would  be  past 
Pladda  in  less  than  half  an  hour,  and  soon 
thereafter  be  in  the  calm  strait  between  the 
Holy  Isle  and  Lamlash. 

"  Oh,  Honor,  tell  me  all !  "  murmured 
Leonora,  still  half-unconscious  of  all  that 
had  happened. 

"  Darling,  poor  dear  Mephisto  is  drowned. 
He  was  swept  out  of  the  cuddy  while  he  was 
stealing  the  cream.  It  is  very  sad  —  but  — 
eh  —  the  rest  of  us  are  safe  !  " 


1 80 


CHAPTER   XI 

FOR  a  wonder  Mrs.  Moriarty  was  a  true 
prophet,  for  in  less  than  an  hour  the 
Belle  Aurore  raced  past  the  rock  of  Pladda. 
Almost  immediately  thereafter,  despite  the 
heavy  swell,  the  yacht  eased  off  somewhat. 
A  look  almost  of  daring  came  into  the  white 
faces  of  the  two  captains.  After  all,  what 
did  a  little  sickness  matter,  —  that  is,  when 
it  was  over. 

They  had  come  through  their  first  storm 
well.  Not  a  spar  lost,  not  a  sail  rent,  only 
some  fur  scattered,  and  the  soul  of  Mephisto 
let  loose  into  the  universe.  Unfortunately 
the  approach  to  Arran  was  veiled  by  driving 
mist.  Honor  and  Leonora  standing  arm  in 
arm  close  to  the  taffrail  could  hear  the  surge 
of  the  waves  beating  against  the  rocks ;  but 
they  could  see  nothing  of  the  mountains 
which  rose  majestically  out  of  the  sea.  Once 
as   they   swept    across   Brodick    Bay,    they 


Wives  in   Exile 

caught  a  momentary  glimpse  of  Goatfell 
towering  above  the  village  of  Brodick :  but 
in  a  few  seconds  the  scene  was  again  one 
blur  of  driving  rain  and  mist  and  sea-foam. 
That  glimpse,  however,  had  filled  them  with 
an  intense  nostalgia  for  the  land.  O  com- 
fortable cottages  with  red,  warm  hearths  and 
kettles  of  boiling  water,  and  teapots  filled 
with  that  luxury  at  present  unattainable ; 
and  above  all,  with  floors  that  did  not  give 
and  move  about  with  maddening  uncertainty  ! 
Who  would  not  be  a  cottager  in  preference 
to  any  other  human  fate?  Some  such 
thought  as  this  flashed  through  the  mind  of 
both  Honor  and  Leonora.  The  latter  leaned 
closer  to  her  friend,  whispering  :  "  We  shall 
soon  be  ashore,  shall  we  not,  darling?" 

Again  for  a  brief  while,  there  was  a  nasty 
toss  as  the  yacht  took  the  heavy  surge,  for 
unfortunately  Miss  Macfee  had  mistaken 
the  exact  lie  of  the  land,  deceived  no  doubt, 
by  the  mist.  It  was  necessary  to  put  back 
and  tack  in  order  to  gain  the  entrance  to 
Lamlash  Sound.  This  was  indeed  a  bad 
time  to  go  through.  All  on  board  nearly 
followed  the  fate   of  Mephisto,  for  at   the 


Wives  in  Exile 

most  crucial  moment  the  tired  Bridget 
slipped  and  sprawled  headlong  on  the  deck, 
with  the  result  that  the  wheel  flew  round, 
and  the  yacht  was  within  an  ace  of  founder- 
ing. But  if  Miss  Macfee  had  fallen  in  the 
esteem  of  everybody  by  her  exasperating 
miscalculation,  she  redeemed  it  by  the  expe- 
dition with  which  she  saved  the  situation. 
Another  hour  passed,  alas,  before  the  yacht 
came  under  the  lee  of  the  Holy  Isle  :  an 
hour  wherein  the  sufferings  of  the  much 
tried  captains  were  vividly  reproduced,  and 
wherein  the  last  vestige  of  regret  for  the 
vanished  Mephisto  ceased  to  trouble.  But 
at  last  the  sweep  of  the  wind  was  cut  off  by 
the  towering  bulk  of  the  Holy  Isle.  Almost 
before  Honor  and  Leonora  realized  it,  they 
were  aware  of  the  sudden  cessation  of  the 
leaping  and  rolling  of  the  strained  vessel. 
What  an  exquisite  relief  it  was  as  the  Belle 
Aurore  glided  swiftly  in  that  white  and 
stormy  dusk,  through  the  calm  strait  which 
divides  the  Holy  Isle  from  the  waist  of  Arran. 

The  beauty  of  the  morning  seemed  doubly 
beautiful   after  the   horrible    experiences  of 
183 


Wives  in  Exile 

the  day  before.  Never  had  either  Honor 
or  Leonora  seen  a  lovelier  spot.  The  low 
cottages  of  Lamlash,  clustered  close  to  a 
shore  fringed  with  wood  and  thicket,  beyond 
which  rose  swelling  hills  clothed  with  won- 
derful velvety  light ;  and  above  these  again 
the  flanks  and  peaks  of  the  mountains  of 
Arran.  In  the  beautiful  bay  itself,  nearly  a 
score  of  vessels  of  all  kinds  rode  at  anchor : 
windbound  foreign  ships  for  the  most  part, 
though  no  fewer  than  five  yachts,  yawls,  and 
schooners  and  small  ten-tonners,  lay  in  close 
proximity.  A  few  hundred  yards  seaward, 
the  Holy  Isle  rose  sheer  and  isolate.  The 
water  on  its  landward  side  was  foamless  and 
almost  quiet,  though  all  around  its  front  the 
sea  was  still  dashing  its  masses  of  yeasty 
waters  against  the  fanglike  reefs  and  ledges. 
The  swift  high  voice  of  the  wind  could  be 
heard  calling  across  the  open  sea,  and  the 
noise,  a  subdued  thunder,  of  the  billows  rac- 
ing past  the  great  cave  known  as  the  cell 
of  St.  Molissos. 

However,  even  the  sea  outside  was  noth- 
ing like  what  it  had  been.     The  water  was 
all  blue  or  sunlit  green,  and  though  frothed 
184 


Wives  in  Exile 

everywhere  with  white  sheep,  was  no  longer 
disturbed  by  more  than  what  is  called  a 
land-lubber's  gale.  Hardly  that  indeed,  for 
every  few  minutes  the  actual  force  of  the 
breeze  slackened,  and  it  was  clear  a  calm 
would  prevail  by  noon. 

All  that  day,  however,  the  luxury  of  the 
rest  was  too  great  to  be  interfered  with. 
The  temptation  to  go  ashore,  to  wander  into 
that  beautiful  island,  which  now  as  in  the 
days  of  Ossian  is  the  isle  of  romance,  was 
great :  but  greater  still  was  the  temptation  to 
be  less  romantic  and  to  stay  on  board  and 
sip  coffee  and  smoke  cigarettes. 

Besides,  the  brief  spell  of  fine  weather  did 
not  last.  With  the  noon  calm  the  rain  came 
down.  As  has  been  truthfully  observed, 
when  it  rains  in  Arran  it  rains  in  the  most 
unmistakable  manner  possible.  Honor  and 
Leonora  were  soon  driven  below.  But  oh, 
the  difference  in  that  dainty  cabin  now. 
Yesterday  hateful  because  of  the  sufferings 
endured  there,  to-day  once  again  fair  and 
sweet,  and  lacking  only  the  flowers  which 
Lanigan  and  Murtagh  would  fetch  when 
they  returned  in  the  dingey,  which  had 
1S5 


Wives  in  Exile 

been  despatched  to  Lamlash  on  a  foraging 
expedition. 

To  sit  still  or  lounge,  to  smoke  and  chat, 
to  be  able  to  read  or  write,  or  do  nothing  at 
all !  What  a  luxury  and  delight !  There 
was  not  even  a  faint  heave  or  lift  to  be  felt 
anywhere.  The  yacht  might  have  been  in  a 
canal. 

"  Port  after  stormie  seas, 
Death  after  life,  doth  greatly  please,"  — 

says  the  old  poet,  and  truly  enough  few 
pleasures  are  equal  to  those  of  a  safe  and 
delightful  haven  after  marine  discomforts  on 
a  yacht  that  is  in  the  habit  of  kicking  up  her 
heels. 

Perhaps  it  was  an  undue  confidence  that 
made  these  two  brave  captains  forget  their 
recent  woes,  and  laughingly  assure  each  other 
that  the  next  breeze  they  encountered  — 
they  called  it  '  breeze  '  —  would  find  them 
inured,  and  merrily  secure  upon  their  sea- 
legs. 

It  was  a  pity  for  them  that  the  rain  pre- 
vented their  going  ashore ;  at  least,  so  they 
said.  It  was  certainly  no  pity  for  Richard 
186 


Wives  in   Exile 

P.  Wester  and  Wilfrid  Adair ;  these  gentle- 
men were  each  favored  with  an  epistle.  In 
these  epistles  facts  were  done  to  death  with 
the  most  daring  audacity.  Exquisite  hyper- 
boles flaunted  bravely  across  each  page.  A 
"J"  pen  and  a  "Lady"  pen  concurred  to 
play  havoc  with  the  truth.  For,  alas  !  no 
word  was  written  that  told  of  anything  that 
might  be  turned  against  the  writer.  All  had 
gone  well;  no  laughter,  no  jibe,  no  furtive 
smile,  had  haunted  the  start ;  no  qualm  had 
crossed  the  mind  of  either  adventurer ;  no 
such  able  crew  had  ever  sailed  the  Irish 
Channel ;  and  never,  certainly  never,  had 
two  ladies  so  well  withstood  so  rough  and 
wild  a  sea,  neither  having  had  a  single 
moment  of  discomfort  nor.  even  guessed  that 
such  a  dire  complaint  as  sea-sickness  occa- 
sionally waylaid  the  unwary  traveller. 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  write  these  letters, 
and  to  reflect  upon  the  envious  longing  of 
Richard  and  Wilfrid.  Well,  if  the  letters 
took  those  arrant  husbands  away  from  the 
seductions  of  London,  so  much  the  better  ! 
They  were  there  on  false  pretences,  the 
wretches ;  were  they  not  forgetful  of  two 
187 


Wives  in   Exile 

beautiful  wives  they  had  left  to  mourn  in  the 
company  of  the  Rev.  James  and  the  parish 
doctor?  Now  indeed  they  would  discover 
that  wives  in  exile  could  be  as  alluring  and 
unattainable  as  sweethearts  under  a  parental 
ban. 

Written  and  duly  addressed,  the  precious, 
if  appallingly  untruthful,  notes  were  de- 
spatched in  the  dingey  to  the  tiny  building 
which  did  duty  as  post-ofifice  in  Lamlash. 
At  the  pier- head  lay  the  steamer,  her  engines 
still  snorting,  and  a  trail  of  black  smoke  still 
crawling  from  her  funnel,  which  had  arrived 
a  brief  while  before ;  to  remain  till  an  hour 
after  sunrise  on  the  morrow,  when,  with 
urgent  mails  —  and,  as  Leonora  remarked, 
superfluous  males  —  she  would  leave  for 
other  Arran  ports,  and  thence  across  the 
Firth  to  Ardrossan.  It  was  delightful  there- 
after to  reflect  on  that  orgy  of  mendacity. 
A  wise  French  philosopher  has  remarked 
that  women  are  never  so  profoundly  happy 
as  when  they  are  telling  the  man  they  love 
an  untruth.  How  jubilant,  then,  Mrs.  Wester 
and  Mrs.  Adair,  when  they  could  hug  to 
themselves  the  solace  that,  to  their  beloved, 


Wives  in   Exile 

they  had  told  not  one,  but  a  whole  vivid 
budget  of  amazing  inveracities  ! 

Next  morning,  it  was  arranged,  sufficient 
sail  was  to  be  hoisted  to  enable  the  yacht  to 
steal  out  of  Lamlash  Bay;  so  that  some- 
where, according  as  wind  and  tide  permitted, 
the  two  sea-lovers  might  again  have  the  de- 
light of  a  sunrise  bath  and  a  long,  wave- 
buoyant  swim. 

Never  had  they  slept  so  well,  —  the  pro- 
found, dreamless  sleep  which  can  only  fol- 
low the  doing  something  we  ought  not  to 
have  done.  It  was  joyful  news  when  Polly 
Jones  —  now  rubicund  once  more,  and  su- 
premely happy  because  of  the  treat  in  store 
for  her  when  the  ladies  should  jump  un- 
guardedly into  that  sea  which  had  so  many 
terrors  for  her  —  a  delight  it  was  when  the 
beaming  Polly  informed  the  still  drowsy  cap- 
tains that  a  glorious  morning  had  dawned. 
The  sea  was  calm,  she  said,  with  just  enough 
breeze  to  slide  a  yacht  out  of  the  Sound. 
Already  they  felt  the  slow  motion.  While 
they  sipped  their  waking-cups  of  tea,  mere 
hints  of  the  banquet  to  follow,  the  Belle 
Attrore  slid  out  beyond  the  west  rocks  of  the 


Wives  in  Exile 

Holy    Isle    and    round    the    promontory   of 
King's  Cross. 

What  a  delight  it  was  to  leap  into  that 
sun-warmed  water,  —  azure  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach,  though  green  under  the  keel  of 
the  yacht !  It  added  to  their  enjoyment 
that  the  breeze  had  now  completely  fallen ; 
at  least,  at  the  spot  where  the  yacht  lay 
becalmed.  Just  beyond  the  headland  of 
King's  Cross  a  strong  catspaw  played,  but 
even  that  was  intermittent  and  added  a  zest 
to  the  glistering  sheet  of  sea  around. 

The  swimmers  were  adventurous.  Safe  in 
their  imaginative  security,  they  raced  each 
other  joyously,  playing  at  dolphins,  —  mer- 
maids indeed,  sea-sirens  such  as  Ulysses  and 
his  crew  could  never  have  resisted. 

But  suddenly  Honor  swung  her  arms  with 
a  backward  sweep,  and  stood  treading  the 
water,  breast  high. 

"What  is  it.  Honor,  what  is  the  matter?  " 

''  Nora.r' 

"Well,  Honor,  do  speak  out.  Surely, 
he7'e  you  are  not  seasick." 

"  Nora,  have  you  noticed  that  we  are 
drifting  rapidly?  " 

190 


Wives  in   Exile 

"What  then?" 

"That  we  are  drifting  rapidly,  and  that 
the  yacht  is  becalmed  —  and  —  oh,  Nora, 
the  dingey  is  ashore  with  Lanigan  and  Mary 
Murtagh  !  " 

"  Well,  but,  Honor  —  " 

"  Oh,  Nora,  don't  you  understand  ?  We 
are  drifting,  I  tell  you ,  —  there 's  a  cur- 
rent carrying  us  seaward,  and  those  on 
the  yacht  can  do  nothing  to  help  us ! 
The  yacht's  becalmed,  and  the  dingey  is 
ashore,  and  we  '11  be  drowned,  I  know  we 
shall." 

"  Wait  a  moment.  Honor,"  Leonora  cried, 
her  face  suddenly  white  ;  "  it  can't  be  so. 
In  this  calm  sea  we  can  easily  swim  back 
to  the  yacht.  Come,  don't  let  us  be 
frightened ;  let  us  give  way  with  a  will, 
and  keep  together,  and  we  '11  be  there  in 
no  time." 

But,  alas  !  there  are  currents  in  the  deep 
sea  that  will  respect  no  swimmers,  how- 
ever beautiful.  And  the  strong  current  that 
sweeps  off  the  Holy  Isle  and  trends  seaward, 
in  a  great  curve,  had  caught  the  two  swim- 
mers ;  it  was  clear,  not  only  to  themselves, 
191 


Wives  in  Exile 

but  to  those  on  board,  that  fate  had  caught 
the  daring  captains  in  what  seemed  Uke  to 
be  a  fatal  grip. 

Good  swimmers  as  they  were,  they  kept 
their  self-possession  for  a  time.  As  long 
as  there  was  hope  that  they  might  swim 
against,  or  evade  the  under-drift  of  the  cur- 
rent, they  held  bravely  forward.  In  a  minute 
or  two,  however,  it  became  evident  that  all 
attempts  to  reach  the  yacht  would  be  un- 
availing. 

Then,  with  one  of  the  deepest  instincts  of 
womanhood,  they  screamed  ! 

In  the  circumstances,  it  was  much  the 
most  common-sense  thing  to  do.  "When 
you  see  you  are  going  to  be  drowned, 
scream  !  "  is  an  admirable  maxim.  Honor 
and  Leonora  saw  it,  and  they  screamed. 

No  good  came  of  this  painful  exercise. 
Indeed,  it  seemed  as  though  a  dangerous 
expenditure  of  much-needed  breath  was  the 
sole  result.  A  grim  look  came  into  the  fair 
faces.  It  was  no  time  for  tears,  and  both 
women  were  brave  as  the  bravest,  and  made 
of  grit  through  and  through.  If  they  had  to 
die,  they  had  to  die.  But  they  would  make 
192 


Wives  in  Exile 

a  hard  fight  for  it.  There  was  a  look  in 
Honor's  gray-green  eyes  and  about  Leo- 
nora's taut  lips  which  showed  they  were 
not  going  to  sink  as  long  as  a  breath  sus- 
tained them.  As  they  swam  slowly  together, 
the  utmost  they  could  do  was  not  to  drift 
noticeably  further  away.  It  was  some  com- 
fort to  be  in  such  proximity  that  they  could 
speak  without  raising  the  voice. 

Even  in  that  moment  of  dire  peril,  the 
grotesque  irony  of  life  did  not  spare  them. 
Indeed,  why  "spare"  since  irony  is  the 
saving  grace  of  death  as  of  life  ? 

"  Honor,"  gasped  her  friend,  "  I  wonder 
what  Dick  and  Wilfrid  will  think  of  our  let- 
ters when  they  know  that  we  are  lying  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea?  " 

"  Wilfrid  always  declared  he  never  would 
go  into  mourning,"  said  Honor  mournfully, 
with  a  latent  sob  in  her  throat. 

After  this  there  was  silence  for  a  while. 
Suddenly,  Mrs.  Wester  raised  her  head  and 
stared  fixedly  at  the  Belle  Aiirore. 

"  What  in  Heaven's  name  is  Bridget 
O'Leary  doing.  Honor?" 

"  Oh,  Nora,  she  is  keening ! " 
13  193 


Wives  in  Exile 

*^  Keening,^^  repeated  Leonora,  awestruck. 
"  Oh,  Honor,  is  it  so  bad  as  that?  " 

And,  indeed,  on  the  deck,  beside  the 
wheel,  the  corpulent  O'Leary  was  upon  her 
knees  with  her  hair  streaming  over  her 
shoulders,  and   her  arms  upfiung. 

"  Oh,  wirra  asthore  "  she  wailed.  "  Oh, 
wirra  asthore,  wirra  asthore." 

The  loud  melancholy  keen  floated  across 
a  calm  water,  a  fitting  requiem  for  those 
whose  fate  now  seemed  sealed. 

"  Honor,"  whispered  Leonora  with  a 
gasp. 

"Yes?" 

"  Can  you  hold  out  a  bit  yet?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Ought  n't  we  to  pray  —  or  —  or  —  do 
something?  " 

"/can't,  Nora  :  Oh,  Will,  Will,  Will !  " 

The  cry  had  contagion  in  it. 

"  Oh,  Dick,  Dick  !  "  wailed  the  drowning 
spouse  of  that  distant  Lothario. 

"  Don't  cry,  Nora  dear  :  if  we  've  made 
donkeys  of  ourselves,  we  '11  die  game  !  " 

"  I  'm  Jtoi  crying  :  it 's  the  salt  in  my  eyes. 
Oh,  — "  and  here  a  burst  of  tears  and 
194 


Wives  in  Exile 

choking  sobs  nearly  drowned  the  far  spent 
speaker. 

Neither  had  noticed  that  Bridget  O'Leary 
had  suddenly  sprung  to  her  feet  and  was  no 
longer  keening  with  all  the  eloquence  of  an 
abandoned  banshee.  Instead,  she  was  wildly 
waving  a  red  flag.  At  last  the  flaunt  of  this 
signal  caught  Honor's  gaze.  She  slipped  her 
head  and  shoulders  above  water,  and  took  a 
good  look  round. 

Behind  her,  not  three  hundred  yards  away, 
a  yacht  was  bearing  full  upon  them,  coming 
slowly  forward  upon  a  catspaw  of  wind  that 
had  scurried  around  the  headland. 

As  for  those  on  the  Sea  Hawk,  for  so  the 
savior  vessel  was  named,  there  was  nothing 
but  stupefaction.  They  had  not  caught  sight 
yet  of  the  swimmers  :  all  they  saw  was  a 
yacht  whereon  a  female  behaved  with  extra- 
ordinary and  convulsive  gestures.  It  is  un- 
usual for  yachtsmen  to  perceive  a  stout 
female  waving  a  red  flannel  petticoat  at  the 
stern  of  another  yacht  on  a  morning  when 
the  sea  is  as  calm  as  a  mirror. 

Still  greater  was  their  amazement  when  the 
despairing  Bridget,  fearing  that  the  yacht 
195 


Wives  in  Exile 

thus  mercifully  coming  to  the  rescue  would 
slip  past  the  drowning  ladies,  ran  up  her 
extensive  blood-red  garment  to  the  masthead, 
and  there  jerked  it  to  and  fro. 

The  two  gentlemen  who  stood  by  the  helm 
of  the  Sea  Hawk  looked  at  one  another  with 
bewildered  eyes. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  man  coiling 
a  halyard  on  the  foredeck,  called  out,  — 

"Two  swimmers  ahead  !  —  Port  the  helm." 

This  done,  the  two  gentlemen  advanced 
to  see  if  help  were  needed.  The  taller  of  the 
two,  a  man  with  a  military  air,  had  a  glass 
with  him.  He  adjusted  this  to  his  eyes,  and 
almost  immediately  dropped  it. 

«  By  God ! " 

"What  is  it,  Lascelles  ?  "  asked  his  com- 
panion eagerly. 

"  Look,  Ruthven." 

The  younger  man  addressed  took  the 
glass  and  stared  through  it. 

"Well,  I'm  —  " 

Then,  handing  back  the  glass,  he  whistled 
softly. 

"Lovely,  aren't  they?"  remarked  the 
elder  soiio  voce. 

196 


Wives  in   Exile 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  younger  dreamily. 

"  Hexcuse  me,  gentlemen,"  broke  in  the 
sailor,  who  had  first  drawn  their  attention  to 
the  swimmers,  "  them  air  ladies  as  is  floun- 
dering about  out  there  will  be  drowned  in 
another  minute  or  two.  They  're  caught  in 
the  current,  they  are,  an'  I  reckon  they  've 
been  drifted  away  from  their  yacht." 

"  By  Jove,  the  man 's  right,"  exclaimed 
the  elder  yachtsman.  "  Quick,  Douglas,  I 
see  what  it  is  ;  they  've  no  boat  on  that 
yacht  there,  and  these  ladies  will  be  drowned 
to  a  dead  certainty  if  we  don't  get  them  out 
of  this  in  a  jiffy." 

With  the  utmost  expedition,  the  boat 
which  trailed  behind  the  Sea  Hawk  was 
hauled  alongside.  The  two  gentlemen  sprang 
into  it.  The  next  moment  they  were  oaring 
the  pinnace  swiftly  towards  the  swimmers. 

Of  course  Honor  and  Leonora  had  wit- 
nessed all  this.  Indeed,  but  for  the  sudden 
resurge  of  hope  thereby  caused,  they  might 
by  this  time  have  succumbed. 

Nevertheless,    as  the  pinnace  drew  near, 
their  inherent  pluck  made  them  fight  against 
adversity  to  the  bitter  end. 
197 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Hello,  there,  ladies  !  "  cried  the  elder 
of  the  two  saviors.  "I'm  afraid  you're 
in  trouble?  I  hope  you  will  let  us  aid 
you." 

Gasping  with  excitement  and  exhaustion, 
both  protested  faintly  that  they  were  in  no 
need  of  assistance. 

However  no  subterfuges  were  now  of  any 
avail.  The  sea  was  indeed  at  their  white 
drawn  lips,  and  it  was  evident  they  could  not 
hold  out  much  longer. 

"  No,"  Leonora  gasped,  as  the  younger 
man  tried  to  grab  her  by  the  hair.  "  We 
will  not  come  on  board." 

"Then  what  the  devil  will  you  do?"  ex- 
claimed the  young  man  perplexed  beyond 
endurance. 

How  was  he  to  know  that  the  two  beauti- 
ful young  women,  clad  in  the  latest  fashion 
in  bathing  costumes,  did  not  care  to  clamber 
into  a  small  boat  and  there,  dripping  and 
dishevelled,  undergo  the  scrutiny  of  two 
fashionable  exiles  from  a  familiar  world. 

"  What  will yoM  do?"  he  repeated. 

Mrs.  Wester's  voice  was  very  faint  and  far 
away  as  she  whispered  back ;  "  You  may 
19S 


Wives  in  Exile 

tow  us  back  to  our  yacht,  the  Belle  Aurore 
yonder." 

"  Are  you  alone  ?  Are  there  no  men  with 
you?  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  the 
skipper  of  the  Belle  Aurore  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Honor  with  a  wan  smile  ; 
"  we  are  the  skippers,  — this  lady  and  I." 

"  Oh ! "  said  the  young  man,  flabber- 
gasted, "  I  see." 

"  Just  so,"  added  his  companion,  with  a 
bewildered  look. 

Slowly  the  small  boat  jerked  along  the 
calm  surface  of  the  water.  The  two  gentle- 
men rowed  as  men  in  a  dream ;  all  they 
could  see  above  the  thwarts  of  their  boats 
were  four  white  hands,  which  clutched  des- 
perately at  the  jerking  gunwale  as  the  pin- 
nace made  its  slow  way  towards  the  Belle 
Aurore,  over  whose  side  Mrs.  Moriarty  im- 
pended her  huge  bulk  behind  which  Bridget 
O'Leary  regarbed  herself  in  her  flaming 
petticoat. 


199 


CHAPTER  XII 

*\  T  7  HEN,  at  last,  the  yacht  was  reached  an 
V  V        unlocked  for  predicament  occurred. 

How  were  they  to  get  out  of  the  water. 
That  problem  seriously  perturbed  all  that 
was  left  of  the  thinking  powers  of  Honor  and 
Leonora. 

If  they  had  objected  to  enter  the  pinnace, 
there  was  not  less  objection  to  an  undignified 
scramble,  as  though  of  half- drowned  rats,  at 
the  port  gangway. 

The  situation  was  saved  by  Mrs.  Moriarty. 

"  Gintlemen,"  she  whispered  in  a  hoarse 
voice  that  was  audible  over  the  yacht,  and  to 
the  two  ladies  concerned  as  well  as  to  their 
rescuers ;  "  Gintlemen,  for  the  love  o'  God 
turn  the  bright  eyes  av  ye  to  the  gyurls  who 
are  lookin'  at  ye  from  the  bows.  Thim  dear 
ladies,  nigh  drownded,  the  Sints  be  praised 
200 


Wives  in  Exile 

for  that '  nigh  '  !  are  onaisy  with  you  lookin'  at 
thim  as  though  ye  had  never  seen  murmaids 
afore  !  " 

As  the  "  gyurls "  in  question  were  Miss 
Macfee  and  the  cabin-lass,  it  will  be  admit- 
ted that  the  "gintlemen"  behaved  with  ex- 
emplary obedience,  when  they  stared  fixedly 
at  the  grim  first  officer  and  the  dumpling- 
faced  Polly,  and  gave  not  a  glance  at  Mrs. 
Wester  and  Mrs.  Adair,  while  these  unfortu- 
nates were  helped  on  deck  by  Mrs.  Moriarty 
and  Bridget  O'Leary. 

It  was  no  easy  task  for  Honor  and  Leonora 
to  accomphsh. 

The  moment  they  let  go  their  hold  on  the 
gunwale  of  the  pinnace  they  thought  they 
would  sink  like  stones.  With  a  desperate 
clutch  each  regained  their  one  link  to  safety. 
Not  even  when  the  strong  arm  of  Bridget 
was  round  her  waist  was  Honor  able  to 
struggle  up  the  gangway,  till  at  last  the 
seemingly  impossible  was  achieved,  and  she 
found  herself  prone  on  the  deck  of  the 
Belle  Aurore. 

A  few  seconds  later,  Leonora  was  by  her 
side,  in  the  same  plight.     It  was  not  till  this 

20I 


Wives  in  Exile 

juncture  that  the  rescuers  ventured  any  com- 
ment ;  but  now  tongues  were  loosed. 

"  How  are  the  ladies  ?  "  asked  the  elder 
gentleman,  a  tall  thin  military  man,  with  griz- 
zled hair,  aquiline  nose,  and  clear-cut  fea- 
tures, a  quiet  smile  on  his  handsome  face. 

The  person  to  whom  he  addressed  him- 
self was  Miss  Macfee,  who  had  gone  to  the 
bowsprit,  and,  having  vainly  waved  for  the 
slowly  advancing  dingey  to  make  more 
haste,  for  neither  Murtagh  nor  Lanigan 
would  look  round,  had  slowly  returned  to 
the  side  of  the  yacht,  to  watch  suspiciously  the 
movements  of  these  unwelcome  sea-rovers. 

"  My !  ain't  they  'andsome  gintelmen," 
Polly  had  whispered  ecstatically. 

"Handsome  is  as  handsome  does,"  was 
the  muttered  response ;  "  I  dinna  like  thae 
fine  birds.  Canna  they  ha'  the  sense  to  gang 
back  tae  their  ain  boat,  now  that  the  leddies 
are  safe  an'  soond." 

"How  are  the  ladies?"  repeated  the 
questioner. 

"  Hoots,  sir,  they  're  a'  richt  noo." 

"  Ah,  I  have  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  a 
Scottish  lady,  I  see." 

202 


Wives  in  Exile 

After  all,  fine  birds  could  sing  a  pleasant 
song.  Miss  Macfee  was  mollified,  though 
she  relaxed  nothing  of  her  grimness. 

"  Well,  I  dinna  quite  ken  what  that 's  got 
to  dae  wi'  you,  but  if  it 's  enny  pleesure  to 
know  it  ye  're  welcome  to  the  fac'." 

"It  is  always  a  pleasure  to  meet  a  Scottish 
lady." 

"  Ye  '11  no  be  frae  the  West  yersel,  I  'm 
thinkin'  ?  " 

"No,  madam.  I  am  an  Englishman  un- 
fortunately. But  my  friend  here  is  a  Scot, 
and  a  good  Scot  too." 

Miss  Macfee  looked  closely  again  at  the 
younger  yachtsman,  a  handsome,  fair-haired 
blue-eyed  man,  probably  about  five  and 
thirty,  tall,  well  set  up,  an  Apollo  in  comeli- 
ness, vigor,  and  lithe   strength. 

"  Weel,  ye  mak  a  guid  couple.  I  '11  admit 
that." 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you.  We  are  grateful. 
And  now  may  I  ask  again,  how  the  ladies 
are?" 

"They've  jist  gaun   doon  to  the  cabin. 
Puir  things,  they  were  nearer  the  kingdom 
o'  heaven  than  they  've  ever  been  before." 
203 


Wives   in  Exile 

The  elder  gentleman  gave  a  short  low 
laugh. 

"  Well,  madam,  it  is  n't  the  best  way  of 
getting  there  ;  though  I  should  n't  think  that 
two  such  charming  ladies  —  so  young,  and, 
if  I  may  say  so,  so  beautiful  —  could  at  any 
time  be  so  very  far  away  from  the  realm  in 
question." 

Miss  Macfee  stared  grimly. 

"Polly,"  she  said  at  last,  "  rin  doon  to 
the  cabin  an'  see  how  the  leddies  are.  An' 
„  Polly  !  —  " 

"Yes  'm?" 

"Jist  ask  Captain  Adair,  or  Captain 
Wester,  if  we  '11  hae  the  yacht  towed  back 
into  Lamlash  Bay,  —  for  the  dingey  will  be 
here  in  a  few  meenits,  an'  it 's  a  deid  calm 
noo." 

"  Captain  Wester  "  —  "  Captain  Adair  "  — 
what  did  it  all  mean?  and  Polly's  "  Yes  'm  ?" 

Who  was  this  grim  yachtswoman,  and  did 
the  Be//e  Aurore  have  two  captains?  And 
where  were  the  crew? 

In  the  approaching  dingey  two  women 
rowed.     Something  was  up  ;  what  was  it  ? 

Thus  pondered  the  two  gentlemen. 
204 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  May  I  ask  if  the  '  Captain  Wester'  and 
*  Captain  Adair '  you  mentioned  are  the  two 
ladies  we  had  the  pleasure  of  towing  here  ?  " 

"  Aye,  jist  so." 

"  Are  they  the  captain  —  I  mean  the  cap- 
tains —  of  this  yacht  ?  " 

"Ye  maun  be  ain  brither  tae  Tammas  the 
Douter." 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  madam,  I  do  not 
doubt  you  ;  but,  eh,  it  is  a  little  unusual,  you 
know,  for  two  captains  to  command  a  vessel, 
and  for  these  captains  to  be  ladies." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  'm  no  for  sayin'  it  is  n't." 

"  And  you,  —  may  I  venture  to  ask  if  you 
are  a  captain  also?" 

It  was  pleasant  to  be  taken  for  a  colleague 
of  Mrs.  Wester  and  Mrs.  Adair,  but  prudence 
as  well  as  native  truthfulness  counselled 
veracity. 

"  Na,  na,  I  'm  na  a  leddy  at  all.  I  'm  first 
ofificer,  though,  an'  stewardess  inty  the  bar- 
gain, an'  would  now  be  in  the  cabin, 
but  for  —  eh,  here  comes  Polly  the  cabin- 
gurl." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other 
blankly. 

205 


Wives   in  Exile 

Was  it  a  summer  expedition  from  Bedlam, 
—  a  cruise  of  harmless  patients.  Two  cap- 
tains, —  and  both  ladies ;  the  first  officer  a 
woman,  and  stewardess  as  well  as  mate ;  the 
cabin-boy  a  girl ! 

"  Are  you  all  women  on  board  this  —  this 
yacht?"  demanded  the  younger  man  des- 
perately. 

"  We  are,  sir ;  thet  's  to  say,  there  are  twa 
leddies  an'  the  ship's  company." 

"  Are  you  all  m  —  I  mean,  are  you  on  a 
cruise?  " 

"  We  are." 

"  And  have  you  just  left  Greenock  or 
Dunoon,  or  somewhere  on  the  Clyde?" 

"  Na,  we  hail  frae  Ireland." 

"  But  you  did  n't  come  across  the  Irish 
Channel  in  that  gale  yesterday?" 

"  Weel,  it 's  jist  what  we  did  dae." 

"  And  with  a  crew  of  women  and  two 
lady-captains  !  " 

"  Aye,  is  there  onything  sae  varry  sur- 
preesin'  in  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  good  woman,  there  is." 

"Oh,  it  is  *my  good  woman'  now,  is't? 
An'  ye  wi'  yer  '  madams '  an'  '  ma'ams.'  Oh, 
206 


Wives  in  Exile 

weel,  I  bear  nae  malice.  It 's  the  way  o'  the 
warl." 

"  No  offence,  no  offence  !  Certainly  not. 
I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Weel,  't  is  grantit." 

"And  what  does  Polly  say?  " 

"  She  says  the  leddies  are  better  noo." 

"  Do  they  send  any  message  ?  We  wait 
only  to  see  if  we  can  be  of  any  service." 

"  Oh,  they'll  get  on  fine,  thank  ye." 

"H'm.     But  —  " 

"  Plase  'm  !  " 

"Weel,  Polly,  what  is't?"  —  Here  a 
whispered  colloquy  took  place. 

"  Sirs,  the  leddies  send  ye  \vurrd." 

"  Ah  !  — what  is  it,  if  you  please?  " 

"Captain   Mrs.  Wester,  an'  Captain  Mrs. 

Adair  send  their  respecs  to  Mr. ,  weel,  I 

dinna  ken  wha ;  an'  to  Mr. ,  it 's  the  same 

ow  're  again ;  an'  say  that  they  're  mickle 
obleeged  for  their  timely  aid." 

"  May  we  come  back  and  pay  our  respects 
to  Mrs.  Wester  and  Mrs.  Adair?" 

"  Weel,  I  presoom  ye  may,  sin'  the  leddies 
ask  ye  to  favor  them  wi'  yer  company  to 
lunch.  An'  Captain  Adair  would  like  tae 
207 


Wives  in  Exile 

ken  if  she  's  right  in  believin'  that  one  o'  ye 
tvva  gentry  is  Mr.  Douglas  Stuart,  the  Master 
o'  Riven?" 

A  look  of  astonishment  rewarded  this 
communication. 

"  Yes,  truly,"  said  the  younger  man  at  last, 
"I  am  the  Master  of  Ruthven.  But  —  eh 
I  did  not  have  the  happiness  to  recognise 
Mrs.  Adair.  Of  course,  the  circumstances 
made  it  rather  difficult  to  do  so.  Is  she  the 
dark  or  the  fair  lady?  " 

"  The  dark  wan." 

"  And  she  is  Mrs.  Adair,  you  say.  No,  I 
don't  —  oh,  wait  a  moment !  Adair  —  Adair  ! 
I  wonder  if  it 's  the  wife  of  Wilfrid  Adair, 
of  something  or  other,  —  I  forget  its  name, 
—  in  Ireland  ?  He  married  some  time  ago, 
I  know.  I  don't  remember  having  seen  his 
wife,  but  she  may  be  known  to  me  by  her 
maiden  name.     Eh — ah  —  Miss  —  eh  —  " 

"  Miss  Macfee  !  " 

"  Eh,  Miss  Macfee,  —  thank  you.  Can 
you  tell  me  who  Mrs.  Adair  was?  " 

"  Na,  sir,  I  can  dae  naethin'  o'  the  kind. 
Ye  can  ask  her  yersel.  It 's  no  quite  the 
thing  tae  be  speerin'  sic  questions  at  me. 
208 


Wives  in  Exile 

Shall  I  say  ye  Tl  be  here  tae  an  early  lunch- 
eon at  twelve  ?  " 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure.  Pray  assure 
the  ladies  that  we  would  not  dream  of  in- 
truding, but  it  will  give  us  very  great  pleas- 
ure indeed  to  accept  their  most  kind  invita- 
tion." 

"  Weel,  I  '11  gae  the  gist  o't  ennyway.  I 
hanna*  the  geeft  o'  the  gab  sae  promiscuous 
like." 

"  Then,  at  twelve,  we  shall  be  here  again. 
Or  is  it  the  intention  of  Mrs.  Adair  and  Mrs. 
Wester  to  return  to  Lamlash  Bay?  You  may 
tell  them  that  this  calm  will  last  all  day,  and 
perhaps  till  to-morrow ;  but  that  they  will 
drift  a  mile  or  so  seaward  as  long  as  the 
tide 's  on  the  ebb,  and  after  that  more 
westerly." 

"  They  're  jist  gaun  to  bide  where  they 
are." 

"  Good-day,  Miss  Macfee  !  And  good 
luck  to  the  Belle  Aurore  and  its  gallant 
crew  ! " 

So,  the  elder.  The  younger  handed  up 
two  cards,  and  two  from  his  companion. 

14  209 


Wives  in  Exile 

With  that  the  pinnace  shoved  off,  just  in 
time  to  avoid  collision  with  the  dingey,  laden 
with  vegetables  and  other  comestibles,  and 
oared  by  the  perspiring  Mary  Murtagh  and 
the  bony  Lanigan. 


2IO 


CHAPTER   XIII 

PUNCTUALLY  as  eight  bells  announced 
that  noon  had  come,  a  boat  put  off 
from  the  Sea  Hawk.  In  it  were  the  two 
gentlemen,  though  now  they  were  in  the 
stern  sheets,  and  the  rowers  were  sailors. 

They  were  well  observed  from  the  Belle 
Aurore.  The  two  yachts  lay  becalmed,  some 
four  hundred  yards  distant  from  each  other. 
The  rumor  of  the  femininity  of  the  crew  of 
the  yawl  had  already  spread  throughout  the 
Sea  Hawk,  a  yacht  of  about  the  same  ton- 
nage. Amused  eagerness  showed  itself  on 
every  face.  Discipline,  however,  was  strict, 
and  none  of  the  crew  ventured  to  hope  that 
visiting  would  become  general ! 

When  the  boat  was  alongside,  the  visitors 
were  met  by  Mrs.  Moriarty.  She  beamed 
down  upon  them. 

"  Welcome  to  the  Bell  Hooroar,  gintle- 

211 


Wives  in  Exile 

men,"  she  began  cordially,  "an'  —  an' 
it 's  all  roight  the  ladies  are  now,  glory  to 
God  ! " 

"  Good-day,  ma'am  !  Are  you  the  — 
the  —  " 

"  Indade,  sorr,  I  'm  jist  the  first  officer." 

"The  first  officer?  But  the  —  the  other 
—  lady  —  informed  us  that  she  was  first 
ofl!icer." 

"  An'  that  wis  no  lie  either,"  replied  Mrs. 
Moriarty,  calmly. 

"  Are  there  two  first  officers,  then,  as  well 
as  two  captains?  " 

"There  is.  Jist  step  this  way,  av  ye 
plaise.  An'  may  I  be  so  bould  as  to  ask 
which  is  the  Curnel  an'  which  is  the  other 
gintleman?" 

"/  am  the  other.  This  is  Colonel  La- 
scelles." 

"  Colonel  Lascelles,  Captings  !  " 

"  The  Master  o'  Ruthven,  Captings  !  " 

The  two  gentlemen  advanced,  each  hat  in 
hand. 

At  close  quarters  they  were  even  pleas- 
anter  to  look  upon  than  the  ladies  had  found 
them  on  a  first  acquaintance.   As  for  Colonel 


Wives   in   Exile 

Lascelles  and  his  companion,  if  they  said 
little,  their  eyes  were  eloquent. 

Never  had  two  such  bewitching  captains 
sailed  the  sea  !  If  they  had  seemed  comely 
and  even  beautiful  when  half  drowned,  they 
now  looked  as  though  their  perilous  experi- 
ence had  given  them  back  years  of  youth 
and  beauty.  Moreover,  each  had  made  the 
utmost  of  their  store  of  apparel,  and  were 
now  as  trim  and  generally  seductive  as  when, 
at  the  Royal  Erin,  in  Dublin,  a  young  com- 
mercial had  given  them  his  unstinted  hom- 
age and  admiration. 

The  two  ladies  rose  from  the  deck-chairs 
whereon  they  were  reclining,  and  received 
the  visitors  cordially. 

"  Now,  how  do  you  know  that  I  am  Mrs. 
Wester  and  not  Mrs.  Adair?"  demanded 
Leonora  with  a  smile. 

"My  dear  Madam,  your  invaluable  first 
officer —  co-First-Officer  Macfee  —  informed 
us  that  Mrs.  Wester  was  the  lady  who  was 
fair.  But  I  do  hope  you  are  both  now  quite 
recovered?  So  far  as  looks  go,  if  you  will 
allow  me  to  be  so  personal,  I  think  we  need 
have  no  anxiety !  It  is  not  every  one  who 
213 


Wives  in  Exile 

could  be  nearly  drowned  in  the  morning, 
and  be  able  to  entertain  guests  at  noon  !  " 

"  We  are  quite  well,  thank  you.  It  was  a 
little  dangerous,  swimming  so  far  away  from 
the  yacht  in  a  strange  place.  And  now 
permit  us  to  introduce  ourselves,  since  our 
husbands  are  not  here  to  do  it  for  us.  This 
is  Mrs.  Honor  Adair,  the  wife  of  Mr.  Wilfrid 
Adair,  of  North  Mountmichael,  in  County 
Shannon.  I  am  Leonora  Danby,  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  late  Lord  Curraghmore,  of  Mount- 
michael, and  wife  of  Mr.  Richard  P.  Wester, 
of  Chicago  and  Brooklyn.  And  this  is  our 
yacht,  —  Mrs.  Adair's  and  mine ;  and  we 
are  off  on  a  cruise  by  ourselves,  —  and  that 
is  all !  " 

"  It  is  an  honor  and  a  delight  to  meet  you, 
my  dear  ladies.  Let  me  also  act  as  our  own 
introducers,  and  tell  you  that  my  friend  here 
is  Douglas  Stuart,  the  Master  of  Ruthven, 
and  so  eldest  son  of  the  Earl  of  Inveresk. 
I  am  Colonel  Edward  Lascelles,  late  of  the 
Bengal  Lancers,  and  now  on  furlough  for  a 
year." 

"  And  now,  Mrs.  Adair,"  broke  in  the 
Master  of  Ruthven,  with  a  pleasant  South- 
214 


Wives  in  Exile 

Scottish  accent,  "  will  you  tell  me  how  it  is 
I  am  so  fortunate  as  to  have  been  recognized 
by  you?" 

"You  have  met  my  husband,  I  think?" 

"  Certainly.  I  have  met  Wilfrid  Adair 
several  times,  some  three  or  four  years  ago. 
The  last  time  I  saw  him  was  at  a  Vice-Regal 
Ball  at  Dublin." 

"  I  remember.  And  I  have  aged  so  much 
that  you  do  not  recognize  vie  ?  " 

The  young  man  looked  intently  for  a 
moment  or  two. 

"  Why,  is  it  possible  !  You  are  Honor 
O'Connell,  the  daughter  of  dear  old  Ter- 
rence  O'Connell,  Squire  of  Tansor.  Of 
course,  I  remember  you  now.  And  what  a 
delightful  evening  we  had  at  that  ball  1  Oh, 
this  is  indeed  a  pleasure  to  meet  Miss 
Honor  O'Connell  as  Mrs.  Adair  of  the  Belle 
Aurore  I " 

With  that  the  last  fragment  of  ice  gave 
way.  Already  an  air  of  old  acquaintance- 
ship prevailed. 

For  a  time,  of  course,  the  conversation 
turned  upon  the  voyage  of  the  Belle  Aurore, 
and  on  the  adventurousness  of  the  two  cap- 
215 


Wives  in  Exile 

tains.  The  visitors  were  delighted.  They 
had  never  heard  of  anything  so  charming, 
Colonel  Lascelles  reiterated. 

"Are  you  married,  Colonel?  " 

"  I  am,  my  dear  Mrs.  Wester.  I  am.  My 
wife  is  at  present  at  Brighton." 

"  How  would  you  like  it  if  she  went  off 
like  this?" 

"  Oh  —  eh  —  ah  —  well,  you  see  my  dear 
madam,  Mrs.  Lascelles  is  not  very  fond  of 
the  sea." 

"But  if  she  were?" 

"  Oh,  of  course  I  should  be  charmed  — 
char?ned!  " 

"  I  wonder." 

Hereat  both  Mrs.  Adair  and  the  Master  of 
Ruthven  laughed. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh,  Mr.  Stuart  ?  " 

"  Forgive  me  :  but  —  " 

"  Oh,  just  so  —  I  understand  !  Colonel, 
you  are  deceiving  us  !  But  now,  here  is 
Polly,  to  announce  that  luncheon  is  ready. 
Gentlemen,  you  must  not  expect  much.  We 
are  anchorites,  Mrs.  Adair  and  I.  We  can 
promise  you  some  good  coffee,  and  if  you 
are  not  shocked  at  ladies  smoking  we  shall 
216 


Wives  in  Exile  ^ 

share  with  you  some  cigarettes  which  we 
think  you  will  admit  are  as  good  as  any  you 
can  get  in  London.  I  have  them  sent  to  me 
from  America,  —  and  I  never  smoke  one  but 
I  think  I  am  inhaling  the  very  soul  of  our 
beautiful  Virginia." 

The  luncheon  proved  to  be  a  surprise 
number  two,  —  or  number  a  hundred  ! 

It  was  most  daintily  set,  and  Mrs.  Mori- 
arty  had  brought  her  finest  resources  into 
play.  The  result  was  a  repast  which  would 
have  done  credit  to  a  Russian  Grand  Ducal 
yacht  in  the  Mediterranean,  or  to  the  most 
"  luxuriantly  appointed "  of  the  craft  that 
congregate  at  Cowes  during  the  season. 

Long  before  the  adjournment  to  the  deck, 
both  gentlemen  had  lost  their  hearts.  Never 
were  there  such  charming  companions,  so 
winsome,  so  gay,  so  amusing,  so  beautiful. 

As  for  the  circumstances,  were  they  not 
unique  ? 

The  first  sword  of  flame  in  this  Eden 
upon  the  waters  was  when  the  third  cigarette 
had  been  smoked  by  Mrs.  Wester. 

"  And  now,  Colonel  Lascelles  and  Mr. 
Stuart,"  she  remarked  nonchalantly,  "  we 
217 


Wives  in  Exile 

won't  keep  you.  I  am  sure  you  are  longing 
to  return  to  the  Sea  Hawk" 

"  Indeed  we  are  not,  Mrs.  Wester  !  How 
can  you  even  hint  at  such  a  thing  !  " 

"Well,  we  must  perforce  turn  you  out, 
then  !  We  don't  want  to  be  inhospitable. 
But  really,  you  know,  we  have  rewarded 
you  quite  enough  for  having  saved  our 
lives." 

"We  do  not  rate  such  precious  lives  at 
so  low  a  valuation,  —  charming  as  that  has 
been  ! " 

"  Compliments  won't  save  you.  Colonel ! 
No,  no,  you  must  go  !  Besides,  Mrs.  Adair 
and  I  have  rather  important  letters  to  write, 
and  we  must  get  on  with  them  at  once." 

"The  decrees  of  the  Medes  and  Persians  ! 
Well,  so  be  it.  We  submit.  But  is  there 
any  chance  of  your  honoring  the  ocean  in  a 
similar  way  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  None.  We  have  had  our  last  swim  in 
the  open  sea,  away  from  the  yacht." 

"One  favor!" 

"  Granted  —  if  a  very,  very  small  one. 
For  myself  I  speak." 

"  Will  you  and  Mrs.  Adair  honor  us  by  a 
218 


Wives  in  Exile 

return  visit  to  afternoon  tea,  —  better  still,  to 
dinner?" 

"  Thank  you,  —  but,  no  !  " 

"  Oh,  pray  be  generous  !  Mrs.  Adair,  I  am 
sure  you  will  not  be  so  cruel  as  Mrs.  Wester. 
Remember,  my  dear  Mrs.  Adair,  that  when 
your  mouth  filled  with  sea-water,  when  you 
first  caught  hold  of  our  boat,  I  looked 
away !  " 

Honor  laughed. 

"  After  that,  you  cut  away  one  refusal.  I 
propose  a  compromise,  Leonora.  I  agree 
with  you  that  we  cannot  go  to  dinner,  as 
Colonel  Lascelles  so  kindly  proposes,  but  we 
ought,  I  think,  to  return  his  and  Mr.  Stuart's 
call.     So,  shall  we  go  to  tea?  " 

"Yes,  if  the  going  and  the  coming  and 
the  tea  can  all  be  included  within  one  hour." 

"Gladly,"  exclaimed  both  gentlemen,  in 
their  eagerness. 

"  You  are  eager  to  limit  us." 

"  No,  no,  Mrs.  Wester  —  it  is  only  that  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  understand,  my  dear  Colonel 
Lascelles.  Now,  there  is  your  boat !  We 
cannot  permit  a  longer  visit.  Our  crew  will 
mutiny." 

219 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  One  word,  only  !  If  ever  you  disband 
your  crew,  will  you  giv^e  me  the  option  of 
engaging  one  member?" 

"Miss  Macfee?  " 

"  No,  my  dear  Mrs.  Adair.    Mrs.  Moriarty." 

"Mrs.  Moriarty?" 

"Yes.  She  would  be  a  serious  addition 
to  the  ballast  of  any  small  yacht,  but  she  is 
simply  invaluable  as  a  cook.  Madam,  I 
would  sail  to  perdition  in  such  company, 
with  such  a  cook  !  " 

"  You  share  the  views  of  Mr.  Wester  and 
Mr.  Adair !  " 

"  H'm.  It  does  n't  look  like  it,  —  so  far 
as  they  are  concerned." 

"  No.  The  absent  never  know  all  that  they 
miss.  But  they  are  good  young  men,  and  we 
shall  be  glad  to  greet  them  —  to-morrow  !  " 

Honor  shot  a  glance  at  Leonora.  It  told 
all.     Dissimulation  was  advisable,  was  it? 

"To-morrow,  Mrs.  Wester?  Oh,  I  hoped 
—  we  hoped  —  that  —  that  —  " 

"  We  were  wives  in  exile  without  the  option 
of  return?  " 

"  No,  certainly  not,  —  but  without  the  like- 
lihood of  reunion  !  " 

220 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Well,  now  you  know  the  tnith." 

"  And  are  your  husbands  to  meet  you 
here?" 

"  Yes,  here,  or  no  — where  is  it.  Honor?  " 

"  At  Ardrossan." 

"  Oh,  Ardrossan.  Perhaps  we  shall  have 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  there,  for  we 
also  have  made  that  a  rendezvous  for  a  pos- 
sible addition  to  our  small  company," 

"  Did  I  say  Ardrossan?  "  Leonora  went  on, 
calmly,  with  shameless  audacity. 

"  Mrs.  Adair  did." 

"  Did  she  ?  How  stupid  !  Honor,  dear, 
don't  you  remember  that  we  were  to  meet  at 
Tarbert  in  Loch  Fyne?" 

"  Yes,  of  course.  I  mistook  the  name. 
I  was  not  sure  whether  it  was  Ardrossan  in 
Loch  Fyne  or  Tarbert  in  Ayrshire  !  " 

It  was  the  last  mendacity. 

The  gentlemen  shook  hands,  said  an  revoir, 
and  reluctantly  disappeared  alongside  the 
Belle  Aurore.  Before  they  shoved  off,  Colonel 
Lascelles  looked  earnestly  at  Mrs.  Moriarty. 

"  Mrs.  Moriarty  !  You  may  be  a  first  offi- 
cer and  pilot,  and  I  know  not  what  all,  — 
but  you  are  also  a  treasured 

221 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Indade,  sorr,  it 's  verry  kind  o'  you  to  say 
so.     Poor  ould  Moriarty  alius  said  the  same." 

"  Did  he  ?  I  do  not  wonder  at  it.  Madam, 
my  name  is  Edward  Lascelles,  Colonel  Las- 
celles.  If  ever  you  want  a  berth  as  cook  on 
board  a  yacht,  —  or  as  housekeeper,  cook  to 
a  dyspeptic  but  ever  sanguine  Colonel,  you 
have  the  address  on  this  card  to  which  to 
apply  to." 

"  Thank  ye  kindly,  sorr ;  but  I  'm  born 
for  the  say,  I  am." 

"  You  are  born  to  make  the  best  souffle 
and  the  most  delicious  lobster  salad  it  has 
ever  been  my  lot  to  partake  of.  Good  day 
—  madam  !  " 

"  An'  a  hundred  av  thim  to  you  —  sorr  !  " 


222 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   calm   prevailed   all    day,    though 
the  sky  became  slightly  overcast.     A 
light  breeze  was  probable  at  sundown. 

At  four  o'clock  the  dingey  of  the  Belle 
Aurore  put  off  on  the  return  visit. 

Mrs.  Wester  and  Mrs.  Adair  had  ex- 
changed their  nautical  raiment  for  a  com- 
promise,—  costumes  at  once  "sea-going" 
and  after  a  more  conventional  kind. 

A  slight  trepidation  seized  them  as  they 
listed  alongside  the  Sea-Hawk.  For  one 
thing,  the  men  on  the  foredeck  grinned 
rudely  as  the  dingey  drew  near.  Their  eyes 
were  admiringly  set  not  only  upon  the  two 
ladies,  rather  humped  together  in  the  small 
dingey,  but  on  Mary  Murtagh  and  Bridget 
O'Leary. 

Colonel  Lascelles  and  the  Master  of  Ruth- 
ven  met  their  guests  at  the  rope  gangway. 
223 


Wives  in  Exile 

Certainly  the  welcome  was  a  cordial  one. 
It  was  a  pleasure  to  both  ladies  to  be 
received  with  so  much  deference  subtly  com- 
pounded with  admiration. 

As  for  the  dingey,  —  it  was  secured  along- 
side  and  allowed  to  drift.  Miss  Murtagh  and 
Miss  O'Leary  yielded  to  the  pressing  solici- 
tations of  the  crew  of  the  Sea  Hawk,  to  join 
in  "  tay  an'   'ot   muffins." 

Nevertheless,  the  meal  —  if  meal  it  could 
be  called  which  consisted  only  of  tea,  for 
none  felt  inclined  to  eat  after  the  Belle 
Aurore  luncheon  —  was  rather  a  flat  one. 
A  certain  constraint  crept  in,  no  one  knew 
how,  or  just  where  it  lay.  But  it  was 
there. 

Honor  and  Leonora  both  declined  to 
smoke.  Mr.  Douglas  Stuart  took  this 
mournfully,  but  his  companion  was  more 
philosophical. 

"  Women,"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"  women  are  the  most  incalculable  of  all 
God's  creatures.  We  must  endure.  They 
are  our  cross  —  a  delicious  cross,  but  still  a 
cross.     Heigh-ho,  when  I  was  young —  " 

Etc.,  etc. 

224 


Wives  in  Exile 

In  a  little  while  Mrs.  Wester  grew  restless. 
Somehow  or  other  she  fancied  that  Colonel 
Lascelles  looked  at  her  with  rather  too  con- 
spicuous admiration  ;  and  as  for  the  Master 
of  Ruthven  she  wondered  that  Honor  could 
sit  unmoved  under  so  adoring  a  scrutiny. 

Providentially,  a  drop  or  two  of  rain  fell 
from  a  passing  cloudlet. 

"  I  think  we  must  be  going,  Honor.  It 
is  coming  on  to  rain." 

"  Yes,  we  must."  The  words  were  spoken 
quietly  and  apparently  quite  indifferently,  but 
Leonora  rejoiced  to  know  that  her  friend 
understood,  and  was  as  eager  to  make  a 
move  as  she  was. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Wester,  do  stay.  It  will  dis- 
appoint us  tremendously  if  you  go.  We 
have  got  the  divinest  little  dinner  for  you, 
—  and  we  beg  of  you  to  stay  and  share  it 
with  us,  and  then  gladden  our  hearts  with 
some  music." 

"  Thank  you.  Colonel  Lascelles,  but  we 
must  go." 

"  Oh,  this  is  too  bad  for  you,  really  !     But 
at    least    let   us  act    as  your   consort  —  the 
Sea  Hawk  is  at  your  service  in  any  way." 
15  225 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Thank  you  again  and  again,  Colonel : 
but  the  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  we  want 
to  run  all  our  little  risks  by  ourselves.  There 
would  be  no  triumph  in  meeting  danger  if 
we  had  such  skilful  sailors  as  Mr.  Stuart  and 
yourself  at  hand  to  look  after  us." 

"Then  at  least  let  us  meet  again.  May 
we  —  may  we  make  a  call  upon  you  this 
evening,  after  dinner,  just  for  a  little  music 
and  a  chat?  Stuart,  here,  has  a  capital 
voice,  and  from  what  you  tell  me,  Mrs.  Adair 
must  sing  like  an  angel." 

"  No,  really.  We  are  both  tired  out. 
You  imcst  excuse  us.  The  moment  dinner 
is  over,  I  want  to  lie  down  and  sleep  off  all 
our  fatigue  and  excitement,  and  I  am  sure 
Mrs.  Adair  is  in  the  same  condition." 

"  Yes  indeed.  And  now  we  must  go. 
Mr.  Stuart,  will  you  kindly  ask  our  men  — 
our  women,  I  mean  —  to  get  into  the 
dingey." 

An  uproarious  shout  came  from  forward  at 
that  moment.     The  Colonel  frowned. 

"Mary  and    Bridget   are  enjoying  them- 
selves, no  doubt,  but  we  must  interfere  with 
their  fun.     Please,  Mr.  Stuart." 
226 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  One  word,  dear  Mrs.  Wester.  Are  you 
going  to  remain  in  Lamlash  Bay  all  night?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then  may  we  have  a  farewell  breakfast 
together,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Holy 
Isle?" 

"  Unfortunately,  Colonel,  we  are  going  to 
sail  at  sunrise." 

"  But  it  may  be  wet.  I  am  sure  it  is 
going  to  rain.  And  if  so,  of  course  you 
won't  sail?  " 

"The  weather  makes  no  difference  to  us. 
Mrs.  Adair  and  I  are  seasoned  sailors." 

"  But  surely  you  want  to  see  something  of 
Arran  ?  It  is  a  most  beautiful  island.  I  was 
going  to  propose  that  we  make  a  climbing 
expedition  up  Goat  Fell  —  or  that  we  take 
a  trap  and  go  for  a  drive  round  the  eastern 
coast  to  Glen  Sannox,  and  over  the  mountain- 
road  to  Loch  Ranza,  —  a  superb  drive,  I 
assure  you ;  probably  tlie  finest  you  have 
ever  seen  ! " 

"Thank  you,  dear  Colonel  Lascelles,  but 
our  husbands  wish    to    see    Arran  with    us. 
We  are  going  to  return  with  them,  when  we 
meet  them  at  Greenock." 
227 


Wives  in  Exile 

"At  Greenock?" 

"Yes  —  why  not?" 

"  O,  merely  because  I  thought  Mrs.  Adair 
had  said  Androssan,  and  you  Tarbert^ 

A  slight  flush  came  into  Leonora's  face. 
But  she  restrained  the  laugh  that  v/as 
imminent. 

"  Did  she  ?  Did  I  ?  My  memory  is  awful. 
So,  as  you  will  now  see,  Colonel  Lascelles, 
we  must  be  inhospitable.  Ah,  there  are 
Murtagh  and  O'Leary.  And  now — good- 
by,  and  ever  so  many  thanks  for  rescuing 
us  in  our  predicament  —  and  I  do  hope  we 
may  meet  again,  and  soon.  I  know  it  will 
delight  Mr.  Wester  to  meet  you,  and  thank 
you  in  person." 

"  Ah,  very  good  of  Mr.  Wester,  I  'm  sure  ; 
very  good.  But  eh  —  my  dear  Mrs.  Wester 
—  What !  you  jtiust  go  !  Oh,  well,  alas,  the 
best  of  friends  must  part !  " 

And  so,  at  last.  Captain  Adair  and  Captain 
Wester  bade  farewell  to  their  companions. 

At  the  final  moment  weakness  overcame 

Honor.     Laughingly  she  promised  that  if  in 

the  morning  the  Belle  Aurore  were  still  in 

Lamlash    Bay,    or  at  Tighnabruaich   in  the 

228 


Wives  in  Exile 

Kyles  of  Bute,  which  latter  she  and  her 
friend  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see,  —  that, 
in  either  event,  the  gentlemen  would  be  wel- 
come at  breakfast. 

As  the  dingey  was  rowed  away,  —  to  a 
spontaneous  cheer  from  the  crew  of  the  Sea 
Haiok,  whose  hearts  had  been  won  not 
only  by  the  blonde  Mary  and  the  rubicund 
Bridget,  Mrs.  Wester  whispered  in  her  col- 
league's ear,  — 

"  Dear,  you  should  n't  have  done  that. 
It 's  all  very  well,  so  long  as  it  does  not  go 
too  far ;  but  neither  Colonel  Lascelles  nor 
your  friend  Mr.  Stuart  are  angels.  And  they 
both  seem  to  think  —  they  —  both  —  seem 
—  to  —  think  —  " 

"What?" 

"  Well,  dear,  that  we  are  n't  exactly  angels 
either  !  " 

"  Nora,  my  dear,  you  need  n't  in  the  least 
distress  yourself." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  I  have  studied  the  geography  of 
this  island.^^ 

"  k\i,  —  \seer' 

229 


CHAPTER     XV 

IT  was  a  lovely  evening ;  one  of  those  soft 
velvety  gloamings  which  are  nowhere  so 
beautiful  as  in  the  west  coast  of  Scotland. 

The  bay  —  to  which  the  Belle  Awore  had 
returned  —  was  absolutely  calm.  The  only 
ripple  upon  the  water  was  when  small  row- 
ing-boats moved  to  and  fro,  their  occupants 
fishing  for  liath  and  saith,  or  singing,  or 
simply  rowing  about  for  the  sake  of  the  cool 
breath  of  night  and  the  beauty  of  those  still 
waters. 

Darkly  conical,  the  Holy  Isle  rose  up  like 
a  black  cloud,  till  the  moon  came  out  and 
revealed  it  in  its  barren  beauty,  softened  to 
a  new  and  strange  loveliness. 

At  the  pier  at  Lamlash  the  red  and  yellow 
lights  of  a  steamer  flared  unwaveringly,  and 
every  now  and  again  the  snort  of  steam  came 
through  the  stillness.  A  relative  stillness,  for 
the  bay  was  full  of  small  boats  and  anchored 
230 


Wives  in  Exile 

yachts  and  coasters.  I'hen,  too,  from  the 
white  row  of  cottages  came  many  sounds  : 
laughter,  and  faint  cries,  and  the  confused 
hum  that,  at  such  an  hour  in  such  a  place, 
is  always  to  be  heard. 

Inland,  the  bleating  of  sheep  was  audible. 
From  a  clachan  somewhere  behind  Lamlash, 
the  thin  wailing  notes  of  the  bagpipes  thrilled 
upon  the  air. 

Seaward,  westwardly,  just  where  the  moon, 
that  had  now  sailed  from  behind  Goat  Fell, 
silvered  a  wide  patch  of  water,  a  shoal  of 
herring  splashed. 

It  was  an  intense  enjoyment  to  Honor  and 
Leonora  to  sit  quietly  on  the  deck  of  the 
Belle  Aurore  and  enjoy  it  all.  There  was, 
of  course,  a  temptation  to  go  ashore ;  still 
more,  to  get  into  the  dingey  and  row  about ; 
but  after  all,  the  paramount  temptation  was 
to  sit  still,  in  exquisite  absorption  of  all  the 
beauty  and  mystery  and  charm. 

Within  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  from 
them  a  large  vessel,  one  of  a  line  of  Austra- 
lian ships  plying  between  the  Clyde  and 
Australia,  lay  waiting  for  the  expected  breeze 
that  midnight  or  dawn  would  bring.  Her 
231 


Wives  in  Exile 

decks  were  crowded  by  passengers,  eager 
to  enjoy  this  last  beautiful  glimpse  of  the 
land  they  were  leaving. 

"  Sing  to  them,  Honor,"  Leonora  whis- 
pered suddenly,  as  she  lifted  the  guitar  that 
lay  by  the  side  of  the  deck-chair  whereon 
she  rested. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Honor,  simply,  "  but 
what,  1  wonder?" 

"  Oh,  that  song  of  your  own  that  you  call 
'  Farewell.'  See,  I  will  play  the  old  air  of '  The 
Wind  in  the  Reeds ; '  that  will  just  suit  it." 

The    strong   vibrant   notes   of   the   guitar 

swept  across  the  water  at  a  moment  when 

there  happened  to  be  silence  on  board  the 

ship.     The  effect  was  wonderful.     In  a  few 

seconds  rows  of  black  heads  and  dark  bodies 

were  seen  clustered  along  the  starboard  side 

of  the  emigrant  vessel.     Then  Honor  began 

her  song,  her  beautiful  voice,  with  its  note  of 

poignant  tenderness,  coming  upon  the  night 

with  a  sweetness  that  brought  a  hush  upon 

every  one,  and  tears  to  many  eyes. 

"  Where  is  the  land 

We  fain  would  reach  ? 
On  what  far  sea, 

To  what  far  beach  ? 
232 


Wives  in   Exile 

O  longing  heart, 

When  shall  there  be 
On  what  far  strand 

Sweet  rest  for  thee, 
Sweet  peace  for  me. 
For  me 
And  thee  I 

"  'T  is  far  away 

That  unknown  clime  I 
A  shadow  lain 

In  the  shadow  of  Time, 
But  if  at  last 

That  land  we  gain, 
Ah,  who  shall  say 

We  've  crossed  the  main 
And  lost  our  pain, 
Our  old-world  pain  ! 

Ah,  farewell,  pain, 
Ah,  farewell,  pain  !  " 

When  she  ceased  there  was  absolute  silence 
for  a  few  seconds.  Then,  quite  audibly,  came 
cries  for  the  singer  to  continue. 

"  Dear,  that  was  a  lovely  song,"  whispered 
Leonora,  "  and  you  were  right  to  sing  it. 
Most  of  the  poor  people  on  board  that  emi- 
grant ship  will  be  just  in  the  mood  for  so 
sad  a  strain.  But  now  do  sing  something 
blither.  Let  it  be  that  song  that  Wilfrid 
233 


Wives  in  Exile 

insisted  on  your  singing  at  the  picnic  at  the 
Giant's  Causeway  that  glorious  day  of  the 
gale." 

With  a  loud  clear  ringing  voice,  filled  with 
a  certain  proud  abandonment,  Honor  sang 
to  Leonora's  vigorous  accompaniment  on 
the  guitar :  — 

"  The  south  wind  on  the  hill, 

And  the  west  wind  on  the  lea,  — 
But  better  than  these  I  love 
The  north  wind  on  the  sea ! 

"  For  the  north  wind  on  the  sea 
Is  fearless  and  elate  : 
The  ocean  vast  and  free 
Is  not  more  great. 

"  On  the  hill  the  south  wind  laughs 

Where  the  blue  cloud-shadows  flee: 
The  west  wind  takes  the  mead 
With  a  ripple  of  glee. 

"  But  the  north  wind  on  the  deep 
Is  the  wind  of  winds  for  me,  — 
Spirit  of  dauntless  life 
And  lord  of  liberty  !  " 

To  the  delight  of  both,  the  last  verse  came 
back  with  a  refrain,  followed  by  a  glad 
cheer  — 

234 


I 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  But  the  north  wind  on  the  deep 
Is  the  zvitid  ofivhidsfor  me,  — 
Spirit  of  dauntless  life 
And  lord  of  liberty  !  " 

'They  will  remember  that,  Honor,"  Leo- 
nora cried  exultantly,  as  the  cheer  swept 
across  the  bay ;  "  and  though  it  is  only  a 
verse  about  the  north  wind,  it  will  mean  a 
breath  of  free  life  and  liberty  to  live  it,  to 
some  eager  souls  there.  I  am  glad  you  sang 
thaf!  " 

But  soon  thereafter  the  bay  became  almost 
silent.  One  by  one  the  lights  of  Lamlash 
were  extinguished  ;  and  before  long  only  one 
or  two  lingered.  On  the  calm  water  there 
were  red  eyes  staring  out  into  the  darkness, 
the  fore  and  aft  lanterns  of  the  many  craft 
scattered  the  whole  length  of  the  Kyle  of 
Lamlash  between  the  headlands  of  Brodick 
Bay  and  Whiting  Bay. 

By  midnight  the  expected  breeze  had  not 
come,  but  in  the  moonlit  sky  a  few  frayed 
white  drifts  of  vapor  showed  that  wind  was 
stirring  on  the  high  levels  of  the  air. 

Honor  and  Leonora  were  now  below, 
having  first  given  strict  injunctions  to 
235 


Wives  in  Exile 

Miss  Macfee  that  they  should  be  called  at 
dawn. 

Miss  Macfee,  however,  who  knew  the  pro- 
ject entertained  by  the  captains,  took  it 
upon  herself  to  arouse  them  while  it  was  still 
dark.  "  There  's  a  nice  breeze  beginnin'  tae 
blaw,  mem,"  she  remarked  to  Honor,  who 
had  sleepily  responded  to  her  summons,  "  an' 
we  can  slip  oot  o'  the  Bay  as  quiet 's  a 
mooss  !  " 

In  a  brief  while  the  two  captains  were  on 
deck.  Thereafter  a  few  minutes  sufficed  for 
the  setting-sail  and  weighing  anchor.  The 
big  emigrant  ship  had  already  done  likewise, 
and  was  slowly  forging  ahead  out  of  the  bay. 

It  was  easy  to  slip  out  under  the  lee  of 
the  Loch  Etive,  as  the  ship  was  named ;  and 
as  a  matter  of  fact  none  on  board  the  Sea 
Hawk  noticed  the  Belle  Aurore,  as,  obscured 
by  the  big  sea-going  ship,  she  slowly  glided 
out  into  the  open.  Once  there,  it  is  true, 
she  could  be  discerned  clearly  enough,  sail- 
ing as  she  did  on  a  southwestwardly  course, 
as  though  for  Ireland. 

The  moment,  however,  that  the  western 
headlands  of  the  Holy  Isle  shut  her  off  from 
236 


Wives   in  Exile 

view,  the  Belle  Aiirore  swung  round,  and 
went  off  on  a  northeasterly  tack.  In  twenty 
minutes  she  had  swept  past  the  Holy  Island, 
and  was  making  the  foam  dance  on  the 
beautiful  stretch  just  outside  Brodick  Bay. 

The  soft  rosy  light  of  a  lovely  dawn  made 
the  mountainous  centre  of  Arran  inexpressibly 
lovely.  The  moon  still  hung  in  the  west,  a 
pale  silver  disk  ;  and  here  and  there  a  faint 
star  lingered ;  but  already  the  new  day  was 
come,  and  come  in  beauty. 

Honor  and  Leonora  walked  to  and  fro,  or 
sat  for  a  time,  entranced.  Arran  seemed  an 
isle  of  dream ;  Goat  Fell,  rising  vast  and 
precipitous,  had  all  the  morning  glory  on  his 
shoulders  ;  behind,  the  serrated  Peaks  of  the 
Castles  were  already  torches  of  smouldering 
light. 

In  a  moment  these  torches  broke  into 
golden  flame.  It  was  as  though  the  sun  had 
leaped  up  from  Glen  Sannox  and  scaled 
height  after  height  till  he  reached  those  wild 
summits ;  and  now,  with  a  sudden  mighty 
lift,  he  was  over  the  ridge  and  had  swung 
into  the  blue  vault  of  heaven  above  the  glow- 
ing hills. 

237 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Honor,  we  must  go  ashore,  if  only  to  say 
that  we  have  been  in  Heaven  !  " 

"  Gladly.  Miss  Macfee,  what  is  that  little 
promontory  yonder,  with  the  cluster  of  cot- 
tages?" 

"  That 's  Corrie,  mem.  A  gae  bonnie  wee 
place.  An'  that 's  the  inn  ye  see  wi'  the  sun 
on  it ;  a  fine  hoose,  whaur  the  Duke  himsel' 
micht  be  glad  to  stay,  an'  be  as  weel  lookit 
after  as  at  the  Castle  yonner." 

"What  duke?" 

"  What  duke,  mem  !  Dinna  say  sic  a 
thing  in  Arran,  or  folk  wud  think  ye  de- 
mentit.  There  's  only  one  duke  possible  to 
Arran  bodies,  —  and  that's  Hamilton." 

"  Well,  since  his  Grace  does  n't  seem  to 
appreciate  Corrie  we  'II  set  him  a  good  ex- 
ample. Let  's  lie  to  there,  and  get  the  din- 
gey ready,  and  we  '11  breakfast  at  the  inn." 

"  What  about  the  Sea  Hawk,  Honor?  " 
Leonora  interrupted. 

"  We  can  race  her  if  we  see  her  coming  ! 
But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  just  learned 
from  Mary  Murtagh  —  who  had  it  from  one 
of  the  crew  —  that  Colonel  Lascelles  and  his 
friend  must  be  at  Greenock  by  to-day  or  to- 
238 


Wives  in  Exile 

morrow,  as  they  have  chartered  the  Sea 
Hawk  for  a  month  only,  and  their  time  is 
up." 

"  Ah,  —  we  shall  see  !  " 

At  this  juncture  the  dingey  came  along- 
side, and  soon  the  little  boat  was  swaying  in 
the  tide  against  the  smooth  ledges  of  the 
rocky  promontory. 

How  delicious  was  the  smell  of  the  land, 
with  a  poignant  touch  given  to  it  by  the 
peat-smoke  that  had  begun  to  rise  from 
some  of  the  fishermen's  cottages ;  and  with 
odors  of  moor  and  bracken  and  bog-myrtle 
blending  with  the  keen  breath  of  the  sea- 
weed. The  air,  too,  was  light  and  cool  and 
exhilarating. 

"  What  a  heavenly  spot ! "  Honor  ex- 
claimed, as  they  mounted  the  rocks,  and 
looked  at  Corrie,  with  two  or  three  brown 
fishing  cobles  in  its  little  haven,  and  then,  to 
their  left,  at  the  inn,  —  westward  the  wide 
stretch  of  beautiful  coast  to  Brodick  head- 
land, at  the  end  of  which  Holy  Isle  seemed 
to  rise  out  of  the  sea.  "  Oh,  what  a  heav- 
enly spot !  I  must  stay,  and  look  at  this 
wonderful  view.  Just  look  at  the  mainland 
239 


Wives  in  Exile 

yonder,  —  or,  no,  that  is  the  island  of  Bute, 
I  suppose ;  but  see  what  wonderful  lights 
and  shadows  !  Nora,  dear,  you  be  an  angel 
and  go  and  order  breakfast.  I  promise  to 
come  the  moment  you  whistle  !  " 

Mrs.  Wester  admitted  that  she  was  an 
angel  to  accede,  and  then  acceded.  Honor 
was  still  standing  rapt  in  delight  at  the 
beauty  around  her,  when  her  friend  returned 
and  touched  her  abruptly. 

"  What  is  it,  Nora  ?  Why,  dear,  you  look 
as  mysterious  as  though  you  were  weighed 
down  by  some  hidden  crime  or  appalling 
secret !  Are  there  no  eggs,  no  bacon,  no 
scones  or  butter  or  milk,  no  tea  or  coffee?  " 

"  Quick,  Honor,  get  into  the  dingey. 
There  is  not  a  moment  to  lose." 

"  Not  a  moment  to  lose  !  Why,  what  in 
Heaven's  name  do  you  mean,  Leonora?" 

But  Mrs.  Wester  vouchsafed  no  reply. 
Silently  the  two  ladies  descended  towards 
the  dingey  again.  Every  second  or  third 
step  Mrs.  Adair  looked  at  her  friend  as 
though  apprehensive  concerning  her  reason. 

Bridget  O'Leary,  who  had  rowed  them 
ashore,  seemed  almost  as  astonished  as  one 
240 


Wives  in  Exile 

of  her  captains.     However,  she  said  nothing 
as  both  seated  themselves. 

"  Shove  off,  Bridget !  Row  as  hard  as 
you  can." 

O'Leary  gave  a  look  of  commiseration  at 
the  speaker,  and  then  glanced  knowingly 
at  Captain  Adair.  The  glance  plainly  said, 
"Poor  thing,  she's  touched." 

While  they  were  yet  half  way  to  the 
yacht,  Honor  tried  once  again  to  elicit 
some  information. 

"  What  is  it,  Nora  darhng?    Do  tell  me  !  " 

"  It 's  Nemesis." 

«  JV/io  ?  " 

"  Nemesis.     Two  of  them." 

"  Oh,  Nora  darling,  has  that  horrible 
swim  affected  your  head?  Who  is  Neme- 
sis, and,  whoever  he  or  she  is,  how  can  there 
be  two  Nemeses  or  Nemeseses  or  Nemesi  or 
Nemesae,  or  whatever  their  horrid  name 
may  be  in  the  plural?" 

But  again  silence. 

The  yawl  was  recalled  without  delay.  The 
moment  she  was  on  board  Captain  Wester 
ordered  the  anchor  up. 

Mrs.  Moriarty  looked  at  her  blankly. 
i6  241 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Capting  darlint,  —  "  she  began  coaxingly. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Moriarty." 

"  Indade,  mum,  if  you  '11  be  so  good  as  to 
misremember  —  " 

"  Oh,  all  right,  Moriarty  :  we  have  no  time 
for  talking  about  nothing.  Have  all  sail  set. 
We  want  to  get  round  the  Cock  of  Arran 
at  once." 

"Aye,  aye,  mum.     Where  for,  then?" 

"  Up  the  Sound  of  Bute,  and  then  across 
the  Sound  of  Kilbrennan  into  Loch  Fyne. 
We  want  to  anchor  in  Loch  Tarbert." 

While  sail  was  being  set,  Honor  turned  to 
her  friend. 

"  Now,  Leonora  Wester,  I  insist  upon 
knowing  what  all  this  means.  As  long  as  we 
were  ashore  I  could  n't  force  you  to  speak  if 
you  did  n't  want  to :  but  here  we  are  both 
captains." 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  " 

"  I  could  put  you  in  irons,  or  at  least 
arrest  you,  and  of  course  the  crew  would 
support  me,  as  they  are  all  dying  to  know 
the  secret." 

"  O'Leary  has  already  made  the  most  of 
her  experience." 

242 


Wives   in   Exile 

"You  are  a  darling." 

"  In  the  'little  goose  '  sense,  Nora?  " 

"Yes,  but  now  that  we  are  safe  —  " 

"  Oh,  Nora,  safe!  Why,  what  do  you 
mean  !  — Ah,  wait  a  minute,  I  see  daylight !  " 

"What's  your  chink,  Honor?" 

"Why,  I  suppose  Colonel  Lascelles  and 
Mr.  Stuart  have  either  come  over  here  last 
night,  or  else  have  seen  our  departure  this 
morning  and  have  crossed  the  waist  of  the 
island  so  as  to  catch  us  here  !  " 

"  Ingenious  enough  till  it' s  looked  into, 
and  then  obviously  absurd." 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  with  such  an  air  of 
maddening  superiority.  If  I  am  wrong  in  a 
very  natural  supposition,  say  so  at  once.  I 
believe  it  is  all  a  piece  of  bluff  on  your  part, 
Nora  !  " 

"  No,  Honor.  I  will  tell  you  why  I 
stopped  short.  Just  as  I  was  talking  to  a 
handsome  old  lady  who  seemed  to  be  lord 
(or  lady)  of  all  she  surveyed,  I  glanced 
into  the  breakfast-room,  and  there,  reflected 
in  a  mirror,  I  saw —  " 

"  What  ?  —  Your  own  startled  face,  you 
dear  goose?  " 

243 


Wives  in  Exile 

«  No  —  I  saw  —  " 

"Well?  — Well?  — " 

^^  I  saw  Richard  P.  Wester  and  Wilfrid 
Adair!'' 

"  Good  Heavens,  Leonora,"  Mrs.  Adair 
exclaimed,  growing  pale,  "  it  can't  be  true  ! 
You  were  imagining  !  " 

"  /  saw  Richard  P.  Wester  and  Wilfrid 
Adair.  Richard  was  eating  the  marmalade 
from  his  plate  with  his  tea-spoon  :  a  habit  I 
am  familiar  with.  Wilfrid  was  helping  him- 
self to  an  amount  of  eggs  and  bacon  that 
cannot  be  good  for  any  human  being." 

Honor  was  convinced.  There  are  traits 
that  are  more  assuring  than  the  testimony  of 
angels. 

"What  can  it  mean,  dear?"  she  asked  in 
an  awed  whisper. 

"Pursuit." 

"  Ye  —  es  —  yes  —  I  suppose  so." 

"  Unquestionably.  I  realized  it  in  a  mo- 
ment. Yes,  Honor,  in  a  flash  I  saw  what  it 
was.  Our  telegrams  gave  them  the  necessary 
fillip.  Probably,  too,  they  found  London 
not  quite  what  they  wanted  !  —  or  that  they 
were  n't  wanted  !  They  said  they  would 
244 


Wives  in  Exile 

chase  us.  Probably  they  came  straight  to 
Greenock.  It 's  a  wonder  they  did  n't  en- 
gage a  yacht  there.  But  I  suppose  they 
came  on  here  first.  Do  you  remember  how 
we  both  raved  about  Arran  ever  since  that 
dear  girl,  Edith  Wingate,  disclosed  to  us  its 
beauties;  and  how  we  tried  to  make  our 
spouses  take  us  here ;  and  how  we  swore  an 
oath  that  it  would  be  the  first  place  in  Scot- 
land we  should  go  to,  if  ever  we  got  across 
the  Irish  Channel  at  all?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  indeed  I  do." 

"  H'm,  by  the  way,  —  had  n't  Wilfrid  a 
great  admiration  for  Miss  Wingate  ?  " 

"  She  admired  him,  I  know." 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  same  thing  t'  other  way 
round.  And  Honor,  do  you  know  —  what  I 
for  one  had  quite  forgotten  —  that  Edith 
Wingate  comes  here  every  summer,  and  lives 
somewhere  near  this  very  place?  " 

"Ah." 

"Yes.     Just  so." 

"And  Richard  P.?" 

"  Certainly  ke  would  not  come  to  Arran 
because  of  the  beaux  yeux  of  Miss  Edith 
Wingate !  He  admires  blondes.  A  re- 
245 


Wives  in  Exile 

stricted  taste,  no  doubt :  but  he  was  bom 
that  way." 

Honor  smiled. 

"Dear,"  remonstrated  her  friend,  "don't 
smile  like  that.     It  doesn't  suit  you  really  !  " 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Nora,  you  are  too  funny. 
But  never  mind  ;  tell  me  what  you  really  do 
think  about  these  two  rascals." 

"  It  is  as  I  say.  I  am  morally  sure  of  it. 
They  have  come  to  Arran  thinking  they  would 
be  sure  to  find  us  here,  sotnewhere  on  the 
island.  Probably  they  arrived  last  night 
only.  Corrie  is  the  first  place  the  steamers 
call  at,  at  least  those  that  come  from  Green- 
ock. They  probably  intend  to  waylay  us 
there,  or  at  Brodick  or  at  Lamlash,  —  and  I 
daresay  the  wretches  will  telegraph  to  Whit- 
ing Bay  and  Loch  Ranza  for  information  as 
to  any  yacht  that  may  have  put  in?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  they  can  know  the  name 
of  our  yacht?  " 

"  Harry  might  have  —  no,  I  am  sure  he 
would  n't  be  so  mean !  Oh  no,  I  don't 
suppose  they  know." 

"  And  neither  saw  you  at  the  inn?  " 

"  Dear,  have  you  forgotten  Wilfrid's  appe- 
246 


Wives  in  Exile 

tite?  Poor  dear  Dick  was  rather  melan- 
choly, I  thought.  I  daresay  it  was  only  be- 
cause the  marmalade  was  a  new  and  inferior 
brand." 

"  But  would  not  the  landlady  tell  them  of 
the  lady  who  so  abruptly  left  the  inn  the 
moment  she  set  eyes  on  the  gentlemen,  — 
and  this  after  having  ordered  breakfast?  " 

Leonora  bit  her  lip  perplexedly.  It  was 
annoying,  but  probable. 

"  They  will  learn  all,  I  doubt  not,"  she 
answered  coldly.  "  But  we  have  the  start 
of  them." 

"  They  have  steamers,  Nora." 

"  Whew !  I  forgot  that.  Never  mind, 
we  '11  study  the  map  and  the  steam-routes, 
and  evade  them  yet.  I  know  this  much,  that 
no  steamers  sail  from  Arran  to  Loch  Fyne." 

At  that  moment,  a  pistol-shot  re-echoed 
from  Corrie.  At  the  end  of  an  umbrella  a 
napkin  waved. 


247 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  excitement  on  the  Belle  Aurore 
was  intense.  Some  inkling  of  the 
truth  had  gone  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
Repetition  had  brought  certainty. 

Would  the  ladies  surrender?  If  so,  what 
would  happen?  Would  the  voyage  come  to 
an  end?  Would  the  wages  be  duly  paid? 
Would  Mr.  Wester  and  Mr.  Adair  take  com- 
mand? Would  they  want  a  male  crew? 
Would  they — and  so  on  —  and  so  on. 

Above  all,  the  question  of  the  moment 
was  :  Would  they  surrender  ?  Miss  Macfee 
thought  they  would.  Murmuring  "  Whom 
God  hath  joined  together  let  no  man  put 
asunder,"  she  added  ;  "  They  '11  give  in,  but 
they  '11  pretend  they  're  gaun  ashore  to  look 
for  a  preemrose  or  to  speer  at  some  body  or 
other  whaur  this  or  that  auld  ruin  is.  I  ken 
them  weel,  thae  fine  leddies." 
248 


Wives   in   Exile 

"  Faith,  an'  I  '11  swear  by  all  the  Sints  in 
Hiven  that  they  '11  do  nothing  so  demeanin' 
to  ladies  o'  quality.  Bless  the  dear  hearts 
av  thira,  they  '11  give  their  husbands  the  go- 
by, —  an'  good  luck  to  thim,  says  I,  for  all 
the  Presbyterian  Bibles  in  the  worrld,  wid  all 
respecs  to  you,  Miss  Macfee  !  " 

"  Forward,  there  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Wester,  at 
this  moment,  "where  's  that  girl  Polly?  " 

"  Here,  mum,  here  she  is  !  Go  aft,  you 
scally\vag  !  " 

«  Polly  1  " 

"Yes  'm!" 

"  Go  down  to  the  cabin  and  bring  me 
the  glass." 

Captain  Wester  spoke  in  a  cold,  uninter- 
ested tone.     The  crew  burned. 

When  Polly  bolted  on  deck  with  the  tele- 
scope, Leonora  took  it,  and  calmly  rubbed 
the  smaller  lens  while  she  maintained  a 
casual  conversation  with  Honor. 

"  Be  Jasus,  she  's  a  cool  wan  she  is  I " 
muttered  O'Leary,  admiringly. 

At  last.  Captain  Wester  brought  the  glass 
to  her  right  eye.  She  stared  fixedly  at 
Corrie. 

249 


Wives  in  Exile 

Every  one  on  the  Belle  Aurore,  from  Cap- 
tain Adair  to  Polly,  strained  their  ears  to 
hear  what  would  follow. 

"  It  is  a  man.     A  waiter,  I  presume." 

"  We  can  see  it 's  a  man,  dear,  but  why  a 
waiter,"  interjected  Honor,  impatiently. 

"  It  is  a  napkin  that  he  is  waving.  What 
sane  person  would  run  about  the  rocks  wav- 
ing a  napkin,  except  a  waiter?  " 

"But  the  pistol-shot?" 

"  Ah,  yes,  the  pistol-shot ;  I  think  that 
must  have  been  by  order  of  the  landlady. 
It  was  probably  a  reminder  that  we  are  ex- 
pected to  pay  for  the  breakfast  I  ordered. 
It  is  doubtless  a  custom  in  these  parts." 
Honor  stifled  a  laugh.  It  would  not  do  to 
laugh,  with  that  delighted  expression,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  crew. 

"  But  —  eh  —  ah  —  who  is  he  —  that  is, 
what  does  he  want  —  waving  that  absurd 
napkin  at  the  end  of  his  umbrella.  Waiters 
don't  carry  umbrellas  as  well  as  napkins." 

"  It  maybe  an  Arran  habit.  But  in  any 
case,  I  do  not  know  the  man." 

It  was  conclusive.  That  voice  could  not 
prevaricate.  It  was  icily  cold  and  indifferent. 
250 


Wives  in  Exile 

For  form's  sake,  and  noting  the  impression 
that  Leonora's  audacious  misstatement  had 
made,  Honor  repeated,  — 

"  You  do  not  know  the  man,  you  say?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

A  second  pistol-shot  re-echoed.  A  con- 
vulsive start  showed  that  the  Belle  Aurore's 
nerves  were  ajar. 

"  Mrs.  Moriarty  !  " 

"  Yes  'm." 

"  Keep  the  yacht's  course  well  to  the 
nor-westward,  and  as  close  to  the  shore  as 
may  be  safe.  We  want  to  see  the  scenery 
of  this  part  of  Arran,  and  7nay  take  a  look  in 
at  Loch  Ranza,  though  that 's  rather  out  of 
our  way.  And  now.  Honor,  suppose  we  go 
below  and  have  breakfast." 

The  moment  they  had  gone  Miss  Macfee 
remarked,  with  mingled  bitterness  and 
triumph  :  — 

"  It  '11  be  them  fine  gentry  frae  the  Sea- 
Hawk.  It 's  extraordinar'  what  folk  '11  dae 
just  for  the  sake  o'  deein'  what 's  for- 
bidden." 

But  Mrs.  Moriarty  had  seized  the  glass. 
After  a  prolonged  stare,  she  put  it  down, 

251 


Wives  in  Exile 

and  went  forward,  a  look  on  her  face  of  a 
beaming  joy. 

"  It 's  thim  —  it's  thi/n  /  It 's  the  'usbans  ! " 

"  Indade  now  —  well,  well,  for  sure,  an' 
is  that  so?" 

"  It  is,  Bridget  O'Leary,  an'  God  be 
praised  for  that  same.  How  do  I  know? 
H'ant  I  seen  the  face  av  ould  Wester  —  not 
that  he  's  so  ould  either,  or  so  bad  lookin' 
too  when  it  comes  to  that  —  in  the  cabin  o' 
his  lady?  An'  I  'm  a  lost  soul  for  iver  an'  a 
day,  if  that  ain't  Wester  'imself  gallyvantin' 
about  on  thim  rocks,  with  an  umbrelly  in 
the  two  hands  av  him  an'  a  good  ould  hotel 
napkin  —  wid  a  hole  in  it,  I  can  see  — 
wavin'  at  the  wrong  end  o't." 

"  An'  the  shot,  Mrs.  Moriarty?  Who  fired 
that?  Was  he  for  shootin'  av  us  an'  his 
lady?" 

"It  was  his  friend.  He's  at  it  agin  — 
God  kape  his  soul  onaisy  for  this  when  he 
gets  to  Purgatory  !  " 

Whisp  —  whap  —  o'ack  ! 

The  third  signal  was  just  audible.  A 
hearty  laugh  of  relief  went  up  from  all. 

"  Faith  now,  if  we  'd  only  a  gun  on  board 
252 


Wives  in  Exile 

we  cud  give  them  a  good-by  in  the  same 
coin !  Well,  well,  I  must  be  off  an'  see  to 
that  second  supply  o'  iggs  an'  bacon  the 
Captings  —  the  blessin'  av  God  be  on  thim 
—  will  be  hollerin'  for  in  a  minute  or  two  !  " 

In  a  few  minutes  the  yacht  was  racing 
across  Sannox  Bay,  with  Honor  and  Leonora 
each  at  a  port-hole  —  the  breakfast  tempo- 
rarily deserted  —  because  of  the  glory  of 
the  view.  To  their  left  the  conical  mountain 
known  as  the  Cioch  na  h'  Oighe  rose  up 
clothed  with  the  beauty  of  the  morning  light, 
and  still  glistening  with  dew.  Further  in- 
land, the  hills  known  as  Fergus'  Seat,  The 
Witch's  Step,  and  the  Peaks  of  the  Castles, 
reared  their  serrated  crests.  From  the 
heights  above  Glen  Sannox  was  audible,  even 
above  the  surge  of  the  sea,  as  the  yacht  raced 
along,  the  song  of  the  innumerable  small 
waterfalls  and  cataracts  on  the  mountain- 
slopes.  Behind  and  above  the  dark  forms 
arched  a  sky  of  glorious  blue,  just  flecked 
here  and  there  with  a  snow-white  cloudlet. 

By  the  time  breakfast  was  over,  the  yacht, 
leaning  well  over  as  she  slipped  along  like  a 
greyhound,  drove  past  the  gigantic  debris 
253 


Wives  in  Exile 

locally  called  the  Fallen  Rocks.  Thence, 
instead  of  keeping  by  the  Cock  of  Arran 
and  so  round  into  the  Sound  of  Kilbrennan  so 
as  to  make  for  Loch  Ranza,  as  originally 
arranged,  its  course  was  made  across  the 
wide  sea-stretch  of  the  Sound  of  Bute,  on  a 
free  tack  for  the  Isle  of  Inchmarnock. 

Hence,  in  less  than  half  an  hour,  those  on 
board  got  another  lovely  view,  past  Ard- 
lamont  Point  and  up  the  Kyles  of  Bute,  to 
where  Ben  Bhreac  and  Ben  Capnill  rose 
above  Tighnabruaich,  and  the  Kyles  seemed 
to  merge  into  a  landlocked  narrow  loch, 
amid  a  wilderness  of  hills. 

It  was  exciting  to  tack  and  retack  in  this 
fresh  and  beautiful  morning,  with  an  ideal 
yachting  wind  to  "  play  "  with.  Never  had 
Honor  and  Leonora  enjoyed  anything  like 
it,  and  their  spirits  rose  to  ecstasy-point. 

Then,  too,  was  there  not  the  excitement 
of  pursuit  ?  Perhaps  at  that  moment  Richard 
and  Wilfrid  were  maturing  a  scheme  which 
would  result  in  speedy  capture  ! 

"  Honor  !  "  exclaimed  Leonora,  with  a 
gesture  of  mock  despair. 

"  What  is  it  now,  Nora  ?     Not  a  gunboat 
254 


1 


Wives  in  Exile 

bearing  down  upon  us,  with  the  offended 
Majesty  of  the  Law  on  board,  and  Mrs.  Grundy 
with  chains  for  our  incarceration  in  her 
properly  conducted  respectable  Domestic 
Mansion  ?  " 

"  No.  Tell  me  :  do  you  think  Dick  and 
Wilfrid  are  quite  such  donkeys  as  —  ah 
—  they  look?" 

"  I  'm  not  sure,  dear.  Men  are  so  decep- 
tive. They  find  it  easy  to  put  on  an  air  of 
sapience.  I  think  it  comes  from  smoking, 
and  their  habit  of  carrying  their  money  loose 
so  that  they  can  feel  it.  As  for  Wilf  and  Dick, 
I  don't  think  they  are  idiots,  you  know  !  " 

"  Do  you  fancy  they  —  or  one  of  them  — 
would  have  the  gumption  to  think  of  one 
thing  to  do,  that  we  should  think  of  were 
we  pursuing." 

"  What  is  that?  To  telegraph  for  a 
balloon?" 

"  No  —  but  —  well,  upon  my  soul,  as 
Dick  says,  that 's  a  notion !  Really,  it 
would  be  a  splendid  thing  to  do.  If  ever 
they  pay  us  back  by  going  off  on  a  yacht- 
ing cruise,  we  '11  try  that  plan  !  Imagine 
their  astonishment  if  they  found  themselves 
255 


Wives  in  Exile 

*  shadowed '  by  a  balloon,  with  their  de- 
serted wives  fixedly  regarding  them  from 
aloft,  and  every  now  and  again  reminding 
the  dear  men  of  their  spouses  by  dropping 
some  little  missile,  say  a  few  eggs,  or  a  bar- 
relful  of  flour  !     It  would  be  splendid  !  " 

"  It  is  too  good  ever  to  be  true,  Nora, 
darling  !     But  now,  what  is  your  idea?  " 

"  Well,  if  I  were  Richard,  I  should  tele- 
graph to  Rothesay,  over  there  in  Bute,  and  a 
great  boating  place,  for  a  small  steam-yacht 
or  steam-pinnace.  In  that  guide-book  in  the 
cabin,  it  says,  yachts  and  small  screw-steam- 
ers of  all  sizes,  can  be  hired  in  Rothesay  by 
the  day,  week,  or  month.  They  could  have 
one  sent  to  them  within  an  hour  after  their 
telegram.  If  so,  they  could  catch  us  up 
before  sundown,  as  easily  as  —  as  —  we  've 
escaped  from  the  Sea  Hawk  !'^ 

"  Not  at  the  rate  we  're  going  at  just  now." 

"  You  forget  we  have  to  tack !  They 
would  sail  a  straight  course.  It  would  be  a 
case  of  a  weasel  and  a  rabbit  in  an  open 
field.     We  should  be  the  rabbit." 

"  Then  what  are  we  to  do?  " 

"  Escape." 

256 


Wives  in  Exile 

"Yes,  but  how?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  I   doubt  if  this  will 
occur  to   our  dear  foolish  boys.     But  if  it 
does,  we  must  lead  them  a  chase  as  long  as 
is  possible  and  then  —  strategy,  and  —  " 
"Yes,  Nora,  and  what?" 
"  Desertion,  if  need  be  !  " 
"  Desertion  of  the  Belle  Aurore  ?  " 
"  Desertion  of  the  Belle  AuroreP 
Honor    looked    at    Leonora    admiringly. 
Here  was  indeed  an  adventurer  who  would 
stick  at  no  obstacle. 
"But,  dear  —  " 

"  I  know.  You  are  about  to  say  that  we 
cannot  swim  home,  —  much  less  take  our  be- 
longings, to  say  nothing  of  the  crew,  with  us. 
But  what  I  would  propose  is  this  :  If  driven 
to  the  last  extremity,  we  can  surrender  the 
Belle  Aurore  as  she  is,  crew  and  all.  Indeed, 
that  would  be  a  very  pleasant  turning  of  the 
tables.  Dick  and  Wilf  could  n't  well  leave 
her  after  that,  nor  run  her  ashore.  Besides, 
they  would  have  to  pay  the  crew,  and  the 
charge  for  the  yacht  and  all  the  expenses  of 
the  cruise.  In  every  way,  Honor,  it  is  n't  a 
bad  idea  !  " 

17  257 


Wives  in  Exile 

"And  we?" 

"  We  ?  Oh,  we  should  be  all  right.  We 
could  go  off  to  Oban  by  train  or  coach,  —  if, 
for  instance,  we  sail  now  to  Strachur  or  In- 
verary,  —  and  once  there,  there  would  be  no 
difficulty  in  our  getting  a  small  screw-steamer 
for  ourselves,  —  this  time  with  a  man  and  a 
boy.  We  in  turn  could,  then,  —  if  we  and 
the  Belie  Aurore  happened  to  be  sailing  in 
the  same  waters,  —  haunt  our  husbands  !  " 

"  Ah,  you  are  an  inventive  genius  !  But 
no  — let  us  stick  to  our  colors  as  long  as  we 
possibly  can.  As  you  say,  that  steam-yacht 
or  steam-pinnace  idea  may  never  occur  to 
our  good  men.  As  likely  as  not,  they  '11  take 
the  steamer-routes.  But  look  here,  Nora ! 
Just  take  a  glance  at  this  map.  Don't  you 
see  that  if  we  sail  right  up  Loch  Fyne  we  are 
caught  in  a  trap  !  Anywhere  north  of  this 
inlet  called  Loch  Gilp,  and  still  more  hope- 
lessly anywhere  north  of  the  Otter  Beacon, 
we  should  be  cauglit  as  though  we  were  mice 
and  had  entered  the  chccsc-hung  gate  that 
leadeth  to  perdition  !  " 

"Yes,  that  is  true.  H'm ;  they  could 
either  pursue  us,  and  capture  us  somewhere 
258 


Wives  in   Exile 

in  that  upper  thirty-mile  stretch,  or  board 
us  at  Inverary.  No,  there  is  nothing  for  it 
but  either  to  leave  Loch  Fyne  alone,  or  else 
to  put  in  at  Tarbert.  From  there  we  might 
get  away  south  or  southeast." 

"  Then  why  stay  there  at  all,  —  or  at  any 
place?     We  are  better  in  the  yacht." 

"  It  was  our  escape  I  was  thinking  of,  —  I 
mean  if  Dick  and  Wilfrid  are  already  after 
us,  or  will  soon  be  after  us,  in  a  steam- 
yacht  of  some  kind.  Of  course  if  we  get 
a  good  start,  it  may  be  all  right.  Miss 
Macfee  !  —  Miss  Macfee  !  —  how  's  the  wind 
for  our  going  down  the  Sound  of  Kil- 
brennan?  " 

"  Fine,  mem.  It  couldna'  be  better. 
It 's  from  the  nor'  east,  an'  we  'd  go  down 
the  Sound  wi'  this  fair  breeze  jist  as  quick  's 
ony  steamer  that  sails  hereabouts,  or  verra 
nearly  so." 

"  Well,  put  about !  We  've  decided  to 
give  up  Loch  Fyne.  What's  that  point  over 
yonder?" 

"Skipness.  It's  the  beginnin'  o'  Can- 
tyre,  an'  the  first  place  on  the  Sound." 

"  Then  down  we  go  !  Honor,  did  you 
259 


Wives  in  Exile 

ever  see  a  lovelier  stretch  of  water?  And 
just  look,  Arran  is  even  more  magnificent 
now  than  we  have  seen  it  yet.  Oh,  how  sorry 
I  am  to  leave  this  part,  and  Loch  Fyne,  and 
all  these  lovely  lochs  that  we  meant  to  visit ! 
And  then,  too,  it 's  opener  sea  where  we  're 
going  to,  and  it  may  n't  be  so  pleasing  for 
sailing  !  However,  we  can't  help  it ;  these 
husbands  of  ours,  coming  right  after  the  Sea 
Hawk  rovers,  are  the  cause  !  We  must  make 
them  pay  for  it,  the  wretches  !  " 

No  yacht  had  ever  a  finer  run  down  the 
beautiful  Sound  of  Kilbrennan.  At  the 
superb  view  of  Loch  Ranza,  lying  sheltered 
in  the  north-west  of  Arran,  Honor  and 
Leonora  registered  a  vow  of  return.  They 
had  never  seen  anything  more  beautiful. 

It  was  luncheon  by  the  time  the  yacht  lay 
off  Campbeltown.  Here  Mrs.  Wester  and 
Mrs.  Adair  landed,  for  half  an  hour  or  so. 
They  had  telegrams  to  send.  Their  letters 
they  cancelled. 

These  telegrams  were  to  Wilfrid  Adair, 
Esq.,  and  to  Richard  Wester,  Esq.,  at  their 
respective  hotels  in  London.  Both  were 
similarly  worded. 

260 


Wives  in   Exile 

"  We  are  well  and  happy.  Hope  you  are  enjoying 
London.  If  we  do  not  sail  north  or  south  we  shall 
probably  lay  our  course  east  or  west,  liut  telegrams 
or  letters  may  be  sent  to  Poste  Restante,  Oban, 
where  we  shall  telegraph  for  anything  to  be  for- 
warded." 

The  wind  had  now  fallen  considerably,  and 
had  shifted  somewhat  to  the  southeast.  A 
weather-prophet  at  Campbeltown  declared 
that  it  would  go  round  to  the  southwest  at 
sundown,  and  probably  blow  hard,  with 
squally  showers.  This  information,  however, 
was  received  with  equanimity ;  for  a  sou'- 
westerly  wind  would  suit  the  Belle  Aurore 
admirably  on  her  Oban  course. 

As  the  dingey  left  again  for  the  yacht,  a 
boy  strolled  leisurely  down  to  the  shore. 

"Mon,  that's  a  peety,"  he  remarked  to 
the  ancient  mariner,  who  was  gleefully  fum- 
bling the  tip  he  had  received  from  one  of 
the  captains. 

"  What 's  a  peety  ?  There  is  no  mickle 
peety  aboot  leddies  as  know  how  to  behave 
theirsels  as  yon  folk  dae  ! " 

"  It 's  no  for  that,  Peter  McAlpine.  It 's 
because  Maister  MacKechnie  at  the  Post- 
261 


Wives  in  Exile 

Office  sent  me  doon  here  wi'  guid  news  for 
the  leddies,  —  or  for  wan  o'  them  onyhow." 

"Aye?" 

"  A  telygraph  cam'  here  not  saxteen  mee- 
nits  syne.  It  was  frae  Loch  Ranza,  an'  from 
a  mon  o'  the  name  o'  Wester,  —  Richard 
Wester.  It  was  prepaid,  an'  wanted  tae  ken 
if  a  yat  o'  the  name  o'  Belly  O^Rory  had  put 
in  here." 

"  Aye  ?  an'  what  did  Mr.  MacKechnie  say 
to  that?" 

"  Oh,  weel,  he  was  that  pleesit  wi'  the  gab  o' 
thae  wummin  yonner  tliat  he  sent  me  aff  like 
a  gled  tae  catch  them  ap  an'  tell  them  he 
wad  send  aff  an  an'nswer  at  yince,  wi'  ony 
pertickelers." 

"  Aye,  an'  what  '11  he  dae  noo  ?  " 

"  Hoots,  mon,  I  dinna  ken,  an'  I  dinna 
care." 

But  Mr.  MacKechnie  of  the  Post-Office  was 
less  indifferent.  As  soon  as  he  learned  all  he 
could,  he  wired  back  to  Loch  Ranza  :  — 

"  Yacht  Belle  Aurore  just  left  bou7id  for 
Oban." 

Meanwhile  the  yacht  sailed  northward.  It 
was  no  sooner  round  the  Mull  of  Cantyre 
262 


Wives  in   Exile 

than  a  fresh  breeze  sprung  up  from  the 
south,  and  good  running  was  made,  — all  the 
more  welcome  as  a  heavy  sea-swell  would 
have  made  the  yawl  roll  heavily  if  she  had 
been  becalmed. 

The  Campbeltown  prophet  proved  a  fraud, 
however.  At  sundown,  the  breeze  fell  alto- 
gether. They  were  now  off  the  northeast 
coast  of  the  isle  of  Jura,  and  the  prospect  of 
being  becalmed  thereabouts  was  not  pleasant. 

A  suggestion  from  Mrs.  Moriarty  was  put 
into  eflTect ;  namely,  that  the  yacht  should  be 
towed  the  two  or  three  miles  necessary  to 
take  her  round  the  point  of  Jura,  when  she 
would  get  the  benefit  of  any  ocean-breeze 
there  was.  As  long  as  she  was  in  the  Sound 
of  Jura,  on  such  a  still  evening,  she  might  lie 
like  a  log. 

The  effort  —  a  fatiguing  one  —  was  re- 
warded with  success.  A  light  but  steady 
breeze  prevailed  on  the  open  sea,  blowing 
from  the  westward,  a  point  or  two  southerly. 
The  yacht  answered  to  it  beautifully,  and 
glided  along  at  a  rate  that  surprised  her  cap- 
tains and  justified  Mr.  Macmasters's  praises 
of  her. 

263 


Wives  in  Exile 

They  kept  as  much  to  windward  as  prac- 
ticable. Before  moonrise  they  were  nearly 
becalmed  again,  when  they  were  to  eastward 
of  the  Isles  of  the  Sea,  or  Garvelloch  Isles, 
with  the  big  Isle  of  Scarba  on  their  starboard 
quarter,  and  the  small  isles  of  the  Sound  of 
Luing  on  their  right.  But  once  they  had 
crawled  past  the  island  of  Belnahua,  near 
which  the  yellow  gleam  from  Fladda  Light- 
house already  wandered  oceanvvard,  they 
caught  the  fitful  wind  again  and  made  good 
progress. 

When  off  Easdale,  the  islet  to  the  west  of  the 
island  of  Seil,  they  caught  a  vigorous  breeze 
that  had  suddenly  sprung  up,  and  went  racing 
through  the  Sound  of  Insh  at  a  rattling  speed, 
with  every  sail  set  and  strained  to  the  utmost. 
This  fortunate  spell  lasted  till  they  were 
between  Minard  Point  in  Argyll  and  Scanach 
Point  in  the  Isle  of  Kerrera. 

Here  the  calm  seemed  to  have  come  to 
stay.  Not  a  breath  moved  on  the  water. 
The  moon  had  risen,  and  sent  her  tide  of 
pale  gold  among  the  foamless  wavelets  and 
hollows.  The  extreme  beauty  of  the  scene, 
with  the  mystery  of  ocean  southwestward,  the 
264 


Wives  in   Exile 

scattered  isles  to  the  south,  the  mountains  of 
Mull  on  the  west,  and  the  innumerable  crags, 
hills,  and  peaks  northward  and  eastward  on 
the  mainland  of  Argyll,  made  the  enforced 
patience  a  delight. 

Still,  it  was  not  a  place  to  linger  in  through 
the  night.  Almost  without  warning,  the  wind 
will  become  violent  in  these  narrow  sounds. 
Moreover,  in  the  Sound  of  Kerrera,  at  whose 
further  end  Oban  lay,  there  was  a  considera- 
ble traffic  of  steamers  and  other  craft,  and  a 
constant  watchfulness  would  have  to  be 
held. 

When  within  three  miles  of  Oban  the 
Belle  Aiirore  did  not  move  an  inch.  The 
tide  would  soon  be  on  the  ebb,  and  then, 
indeed,  she  would  actually  drift  back. 

A  loud  puffing  not  far  astern  suggested  an 
idea  to  Honor.  "  Nora,"  she  exclaimed 
eagerly,  "  do  you  see  that  steam-collier? 
Well,  I  propose  we  ask  the  skipper  to  take 
us  in  tow." 

"  Good.     By  all  means." 

As  soon  as  the  lumpy  boat  was  near,  the 
skipper  was  hailed.  He  agreed  to  take  them 
into  Oban  Bay  for  a  pound,  —  an  exorbi- 
265 


Wives  in  Exile 

tant  sum  —  to  which  Mrs.  Wester  cheerfully 
agreed,  under  the  impression  that  the  trans- 
action rather  redounded  to  her  credit. 

The  Capital  of  the  West  Highlands  looked 
very  beautiful  as  they  approached  it,  with  its 
circle  of  scintillating  lights,  and  the  innu- 
merable lamp-gleams  from  villas  and  cottages 
on  the  adjacent  heights. 

A  large  number  of  steamers,  yachts,  and 
divers  craft  were  anchored  or  moored  in  the 
Bay,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  find  a  suitable 
haven.  At  last,  however,  a  good  anchorage 
was  got  off  the  southeast  shore. 

The  temptation  to  go  ashore,  late  as  it  was, 
was  great.  But  the  distance  to  row  seemed 
farther  than  it  actually  was,  and  the  crew 
were  tired  after  a  heavy  and  exciting  day's 
work. 

The  two  friends  sat  for  an  hour  or  so  in 
quiet  happiness.  Over  their  cigarettes  they 
discussed  the  discomfiture  of  Mr.  Wester  and 
Mr.  Adair,  wanderers  now,  no  doubt,  up  and 
down  the  Isle  of  Arran. 


266 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AT  breakfast,  Mrs.  Wester  proposed  that 
she  and  Honor  should  go  ashore,  partly 
for  enquiry  at  the  Post-Office,  and  partly  for 
the  sake  of  a  good  walk. 

Honor  was  ready  first.  It  was  a  delight 
to  walk  to  and  fro  upon  the  deck  of  the 
Belle  Aurore  and  look  out  upon  so  lovely  a 
view,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  its  kind  in 
the  world  she  had  heard,  and  could  well 
believe,  —  though  the  beauty  of  Oban  can 
only  be  seen  aright  in  the  late  afternoon  and 
at  sunset. 

Having  gazed  over  and  over  seaward  and 
bayward  and  inland  in  all  directions,  she 
took  up  the  glass  to  examine  the  busy  main- 
street  of  the  little  town,  or  what  she  could 
see  of  it  beyond  the  masts  of  the  steamers, 
sloops,  yachts,  and  coal-barges  along  the 
wharves. 

267 


Wives  in  Exile 

Suddenly  she  started.  Through  the  tele- 
scope she  observed  two  gentlemen  standing 
near  a  boat-hiring  stand.  They  were  evi- 
dently bargaining  for  a  boat,  or  for  a  man  to 
row  them  out,  and  one  of  the  men  pointed 
twice  to  the  bay. 

"  Quick,  Mrs.  Moriarty  !  "  she  whispered. 
"  Don't  lose  a  moment.  Up  with  the  anchor. 
Set  all  sail  you  possibly  can.  We  have  n't  a 
moment  to  lose.  Fortunately  there  is  a  good 
capfull  of  wind  coming  down  over  the  shoul- 
der of  this  hill  here  behind  us." 

None  of  Her  Majesty's  crews  could  have 
managed  a  sudden  departure  with  more  ce- 
lerity. Every  one  worked  with  a  will, — 
Jane  Lanigan  and  Murtagh  at  the  windlass ; 
Mrs.  Moriarty,  Miss  Macfee,  O'Leary,  and 
Polly  Jones,  at  the  ropes ;  Captain  Adair  at 
the  wheel. 

Captain  Wester  heard  the  clanking  of  the 
windlass  and  the  scraping  sound  of  the 
chains  as  the  anchor  was  hove  up,  and  ran 
eagerly  on  deck. 

"What's  the  matter.  Honor?"  she  cried 
excitedly.     "  Can't  we  go  ashore  ?  " 

"  No.     Oban  is  impossible." 
268 


Wives  in  Exile 

"But  why?" 

"  They  are  here." 

«  They  !  Not  Wilfrid  and  Richard  !  It  is 
impossible  !  " 

"  Look  !  There  on  the  parade,  well  to 
the  left  of  the  quay." 

Mrs.  Wester  took  the  glass. 

"  I  can  see  no  one  in  the  least  resembling 
them." 

"  Where  are  you  looking?  " 

"  Where  you  told  me,  —  at  the  parade." 

"  H'm.  Lower  the  glass  a  bit.  You  will 
see  a  boat,  and  in  that  boat  a  stout  man  row- 
ing hard,  and,  in  the  stern  of  that  boat,  two 
passengers." 

"  Good  Heavens  !  You  're  right  !  It  is 
Richard  and  Wilfrid  !  How  in  the  name  of 
all  that 's  wonderful  have  they  got  here?  " 

Honor  stared  disconsolately. 

"But  can  we  escape  them.  Honor?  Is 
there  time?  " 

"  We  are  moving  quicker  than  they  are 
already.  If  there  is  no  hitch  in  clearing  the 
bay,  and  if  the  wind  holds  when  we  get  out 
beyond  the  headlands  of  Kerrera,  we  '11  soon 
leave  them  hopelessly  behind." 
269 


Wives  in  Exile 

A  cheer  came  from  forward.  The  jibs 
were  now  out  as  well  as  topsail  and  main. 
The  froth  bubbled  and  surged  before  the 
bows  of  the  Belle  Aurore.  The  crew  had 
caught  sight  of  the  pursuing  boat,  though 
they  had  not  understood  they  were  fugi- 
tives till  Mrs.  Moriarty  caught  sight  through 
the  glass  of  one  of  the  men  in  the  stern,  and 
recognized  him  as  "  the  gintleman  wi'  the 
umbrelly  an'  the  dish-clout." 

A  faint  hail  was  heard  as  the  yacht  moved 
swiftly  for  Bhearnaig  Point  at  the  north  end  of 
Kerrera.     It  was  unanswered. 

Honor  and  Leonora  did  not  look  at  the 
pursuing  boat,  —  at  least  only  furtively,  and 
not  through  the  glass. 

In  five  minutes  the  yawl  was  close  upon 
the  Ruay  Bhearnaig ;  in  less  than  five  min- 
utes she  would  be  round  it  and  in  the  open 
sea. 

"  Plase  your  honors,"  cried  Polly  Jones, 
her  round  eyes  dilated  with  excitement,  "  the 
gintleman  's  takin'  off  his  shirt !  " 

"  What  !  " 

"  Ah,  bedad  thin,  ye  silly  spalpeen,"  broke 
in  Mrs.  Moriarty  indignantly,  as  she  gave  a 
270 


Wives  in  Exile 

sounding  spank  to  Polly's  ear,  <*  an'  phwat 
are  ye  annoyin'  the  ladies  for?  Shure,  if 
they  wants  to  go  ashore,  or  to  turn  back, 
they  can  do  it  theirselves.  No,  no,  indade, 
Mrs.  Wester,  mum,  the  gintleman  's  all  right. 
He  's  only  blowin'  his  nose,  he  is,  with  a  big 
bandanna.  Faith  't  is  a  hot  marnin'  for 
rowin',  an'  the  stout  man  's  about  bate,  I  'm 
thinkin'.  Capting  Adair,  mum,  jist  bring 
her  up  to  the  wind  a  point  or  two  more. 
We  '11  be  round  this  headland  in  a  jiffy,  an' 
then  they  may  whistle.  There  's  wind  out- 
side, praise  be  to  God  !  " 

And  so  it  proved.     A  good  breeze  too. 

The  yacht  now  went  off  a  point  or  two, 
and  raced  on  a  straight  line  nor'vvest,  —  a 
line  that  would  take  her  past  the  light-house 
islet,  at  the  end  of  the  long  Isle  of  Lismore, 
to  starboard,  and  past  Duart  Point  in  Mull. 

"  Dip  the  flag  three  times,"  Leonora  com- 
manded, trying  hard  to  keep  down  the  ex- 
ultation in  her  voice. 

Away  flew  the  bunting.  Cheer  after  cheer 
went  up  from  the  crew. 

"  Ladies,"  said  Mrs.  Moriarty,  addressing 
herself  to  those  of  the  crew  near  her,  O'Leary 
271 


Wives  in  Exile 

and  Miirtagh,  with  a  sob  of  joy  making 
her  choke,  — "  Ladies,  when  we  're  back  in 
Cork,  I  '11  stand  ye  an  eel-pie  wi'  Dublin 
Stout  bekas  o'  this  glory  !  " 

But  the  delight  of  the  captains  was  dashed 
by  fear.  Steamer  after  steamer  would  soon 
be  leaving  Oban,  and  one  or  two,  at  least, 
would  be  bound  for  the  long  Sound  of  Mull. 
Steam-coasters,  tugs,  barges,  wherries,  —  all 
were  available.  A  swift  yacht,  too,  could  be 
hired.  Even  the  ordinary  passenger  steamer 
for  Staffa  and  lona  could  waylay  them.  The 
steamer  would  not  intercept  them,  of  course  ; 
but  if  Richard  and  Wilfrid  sailed  by  it,  they 
would  soon  pass  the  Belle  Aurore  and  could 
land  at  Tobermory,  where  it  would  be  easy  to 
get  a  sailing  wherry  and  so  run  the  yacht  to 
ground,  so  to  say. 

"We're  caught,  I  fear.  Honor,"  whis- 
pered Leonora  disconsolately:  "unless  we 
try  to  evade  them  by  running  up  into  Loch 
Aline,  and  I  don't  know  if  we  can  do  that. 
The  strait  seems  too  narrow,  and  it  may  be 
shallow :  I  can't  quite  make  out  from  my 
chart." 

"What !  Salen  Bay  in  Mull?" 
272 


Wives  in  Exile 

"Oh,  we  should  be  seen  in  a  flash.  No; 
all  our  chances  lie  in  this  breeze  holding. 
Luckily  those  clouds  look  like  it.  We  could  n't 
possibly  have  a  more  favorable  wind  for  the 
Sound  of  Mull.  Every  other  would  involve 
our  tacking  to  and  fro." 

"Well,  our  f;ite  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
gods.  But  we  must  keep  a  good  lookout, 
and  if  the  Staffa  steamer,  or  any  other  for 
Tobermory,  should  pass  us  we  must  hug  the 
coast  of  Morven  as  close  as  we  can." 

Fortunately,  the  wind  was  loyal.  It  went 
further,  and  became  an  eager  auxiliary. 
Within  an  hour  it  had  freshened  into  a  stiff 
breeze.  Tobermory  was  reached  and  passed, 
before  the  Staffa  steamer  came  snorting  along 
the  sound.  Her  funnels  were  still  belching 
smoke  at  Tobermory  pier  v\^hen  the  Belle 
Aurore  drove  the  foam  before  her  bows  as 
she  raced  up  by  Ardnamurchan  Point. 

She  was  now  clear.  No  more  pursuit  was 
possible,  at  least  from  the  Staffa  steamer, 
whose  course  would  be  southward  the  mo- 
ment she  rounded  Mull. 

There  was  one  risk.  If  the  pursuers  were 
on  the  steamer,  and  disembarked   at  Tober- 


iS 


273 


Wives  in  Exile 

mory,  they  could  doubtless  hire  a  small  steam- 
yacht  or  a  steam-wherry. 

"  Leonora  Wester,"  cried  Honor,  as  she 
turned  her  eyes  from  the  dashing  of  the  big 
Atlantic  waves  against  the  rocky  promontory 
of  the  Cape  of  Storms  :  "  there  is  nothing 
for  it  but  the  open  sea  !  " 

"  I  am  ready,  Captain  !  " 

"  You  are  !  Then  we  '11  hug  the  coast  no 
more,  and  give  up  Skye." 

"  We  seem  to  be  always  giving  up,  Honor, 
don't  we?" 

"  Never  mind.  Skye  would  mean  cap- 
ture. Of  course  they  '11  think  we  've  gone 
there,  and  we  should  be  traced  with  fatal 
ease  en  roiite.  Then,  once  at  Skye,  we  are 
within  betrayal  by  a  score  of  telegraph 
offices.  No,  no,  we  '11  put  the  steam- 
wherry  out  of  the  question  anyhow." 

"  We  '11  have  a  toss  !  Even  here  there  's 
a  swell  on,  and  when  it  blows  on  these 
waters,  it  can  be  rough  with  a  vengeance, 
can't  it,  Mrs.  Moriarty?" 

"  Hell  for  shure,  an'  not  a  wheeze  short 
o'  it!" 

"  Indeed  !  "  Honor  answered,  with  mock 
274 


Wives  in  Exile 

politeness,  "  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  bad  as 
that.  However,  we  '11  risk  it.  I  don't  know 
how ycu  feel,  Nora,  but  I  //lin/i  I've  got  my 
sea-legs  now.  This  swell  does  n't  make  me 
the  least  bit  queer,  and  what  's  more,  I  feel 
as  though  I  don't  care  if  it  blows  twice  as 
hard,  and  a  head  wind  at  that !  " 

"  Bravo,  my  Captain  !  I  don't  know  about 
the  head-wind  ;  but  here  's  for  the  open  sea  ! 
Hip,  hip,  hurrah  !  " 

"  Hip,  hip,  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  Mrs.  Mori- 
arty,  don't  think  we'  ve  lost  our  wits,  but 
we  've  given  up  Skye,  and  we  're  going  across 
the  open  sea.  We  'II  make  to-night  for  the 
Isle  of  Canna.  I  see  in  the  chart  that 
there  's  good  anchorage  even  in  the  wildest 
weather,  in  the  Strait  of  Sanday,  between  the 
islet  of  that  name  and  Canna.  So  now  alter 
the  course  due  nor'west,  —  but  keep  us  well 
to  the  windward  of  the  Hysker  Rocks,  for 
there  are  heavy  breakers,  so  the  chart  says, 
to  the  south  of  them." 

"  One  word,  if  you  plase,  mum.  For  the 
love  o'  Hiven,  tell  me  if  it 's  chased  we  are, 
an'  by  thifn  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mrs,  Moriarty,  we  are  :  and  by  thim'^ 

275 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Oh,  glory  to  God  !  Capting  darlint,  I  'd 
sell  my  sowl  as  a  potato-bucket  jist  for  the 
glory  av  sailin'  wid  your  honors  !  Oh,  't  is 
a  glad  day  I  left  Cork  an'  saw  the  swate 
faces  av  ye  !  An'  look  at  Macfee  when  I 
tell  her  that  good  news  :  faith  she  '11  look  as 
sour  's  a  blind  cat  whin  it  licks  the  blackin' 
thinkin'  it  to  be  crame  !  " 

"  We  're  glad  you  're  pleased,  Mrs.  Mori- 
arty.  And  what 's  more,  we  think  you  're  a 
brick,  —  and  if  we  can  give  our  husbands  the 
slip  it 's  not  forgetting  you  we  will  be  !  " 

"  Ah,  don't  say  that,  Capting  Adair,  dar- 
lint, —  an'  God  bless  the  swate  Irish  vice  ye 
have,  an'  eyes  as  tantalisin'  purty  as  Mori- 
arty's  was  afore  he  took  to  drink,  —  no,  don't 
be  sayin'  that.  It 's  no  prisint  I  'm  wantin', 
only  to  be  here  at  this  divilry.  Shure,  it 's 
a  married  wimmin  I  am  mesilf,  —  and  don't 
I  know  what  it  is  ?  Holy  Virgin,  't  is  peace 
on  earth  an'  good-will  to  wimmen  now-a- 
days  !  " 

Both  the  captains  hailed  this  outburst  with 
a  laugh  of  delight.  "  Honor  darlint,"  Leo- 
nora whispered,  as  Mrs.  Moriarty  lunged 
forward  to  have  the  flying  jib  let  out,  "  she  's 
276 


Wives  in   Exile 

a  treasure  !  If  ever  we  come  to  sea  again 
she  '11  be  first  officer  and  anything  else  she 
likes.  The  look  of  her  great  red  beaming 
face  is  a  joy  in  itself." 

The  Belle  Aurore  was  now  spanking 
through  the  water  at  a  fine  rate.  It  would 
have  needed  a  swift  screw-yacht  to  make  up 
on  the  yawl  as  long  as  the  wind  held  as  it 
was.  The  exhilaration  of  the  swirling  rush 
through  the  foam-crested  seas,  the  surge  of 
the  keen  but  sun-warmed  wind,  the  glory  of 
light  in  the  deep  blue  sky,  —  it  was  delight, 
intoxication,  madness  ! 

Even  the  stern  Macfee  relaxed  from  her 
grim  disapproval,  —  a  dissatisfaction  that  had 
been  steadily  growing  ever  since  the  matri- 
monial desertion  at  Corrie. 

"  Guid  sakes,"  she  muttered  to  Jane  Lani- 
gan,  her  only  confidant,  "  Guid  sakes,  it 's 
ungodly,  but  it 's  graund  !  " 

No  one  who  has  ever  sailed  that  perilous 
ocean-stretch  between  the  Outer  and  Inner 
Hebrides  can  fail  to  know  what  heavy  seas 
can  rise,  and  what  wild  storms  can  sweep  out 
of  any  quarter  with  appalling  rapidity.  But 
now,  despite  a  rather  heavy  swell  from  the 
277 


Wives  in  Exile 

southwest,  the  whole  vast  ocean-reach  was  a 
glory  of  blue  and  gold  everywhere  creased 
with  white. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  by,  without  a  break 
in  the  wind  or  anything  more  than  a  slight 
increase  in  the  size  of  the  waves.  If  all  the 
powers  and  dominions  of  the  air  had  de- 
clared for  the  Belle  Aurore  they  could  not 
have  arranged  more  favorably.  The  yacht 
raced  as  though  she  were,  as  Mrs.  Wester 
said,  greased  with  lightning. 

There  was  magic  in  that  wild  rush,  in 
that  sonorous  surge,  in  that  unceasing  cata- 
ract of  rainbow-irradiated  spray  which  fell 
away  from  the  bows.  Magic,  too,  in  the  vi- 
bration of  the  quivering  planks,  in  the  strain- 
ing of  the  mast  and  the  yards,  in  the  deep 
hum  of  the  murmurous  sails,  in  the  song  of 
the  wind  in  the  cordage,  against  the  taut 
canvas,  among  the  querulous   spars. 

When,  at  last,  the  sun  sank  to  the  level 
of  the  water,  and  for  a  few  minutes  brought 
the  distant  isles  of  Rarra  into  prominence, 
gloriously  beautiful  in  a  glow  of  molten  gold 
and  crimson,  the  feelings  of  those  on  board 
could  no  longer  be  restrained. 
278 


Wives   in  Exile 

"  Be  the  sowl  o'  my  gran' mother,  who  died 
at  say,  —  an'  a  martyr  she  was  to  the  ould 
man,  who  had  a  timper,  the  peace  av  God  to 
him  all  the  same  !  —  we  must  do  something  !  " 

So  Mrs,  Moriarty  :  on  the  foiedeck.  The 
resolution  was  carried  7iem.  con. 

The  first  officer  —  and  now  by  common 
consent  Mrs.  Moriarty  had  exchanged  the 
indefinite  for  the  definite  article  —  at  once 
went  aft. 

"  Captings,  the  crew  is  bilin' !  " 

"  What 's  that,  Moriarty?"  Leonora  ex- 
claimed, startled, 

"Bilin',  yer  honor!  'Tis  with  blind  en- 
thusymiasm.  Faith,  I  have  n't  seen  the  like 
since  Tim  Hoolahan  married  me  sister 
Tomasina  the  day  he  came  out  o'  Cork 
gaol,  an'  that  for  no  harm  either,  the  Sints 
forefind  !  'T  was  only  a  black  eye  he  'd 
given  to  a  constable  on  his  way  to  the 
station,  an'  him  no  more  than  warm  wid 
the  comfort  av  a  dhrop." 

"  A  shame  !  Moriarty  !  a  shame  !  And  a 
man  like  Tim  Hoolahan  too  !  " 

"  Did  ye   know  him,  Capting?"  broke  in 
the  first  officer  eagerly. 
279 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Well,  no.  But  he  must  have  been  a 
fine  man  to  have  been  worthy  of  Tomasina, 
if  Tomasina  was  the  least  like  yo!^." 

"  Shure  now,  clarlint,  't  is  a  good  lick  at 
the  Blarney  Stone  ye  've  had  !  O  Capting 
Wester,  mum,  an  me  so  innycint !  " 

"  iVIoriarty,  when  I  'm  a  saint  in  heaven, 
I  '11  ask  nothing  better  than  to  have  a  seat 
near  you.  You  would  amuse  —  eh  —  ah  — 
let  us  say  the  redeemed  and  perfected 
Macfee." 

Mrs.  Moriarty  dropped  her  voice  here, 
and  in  mysterious  tones  whispered  :  — 

"  Indade,  mum,  't  is  thinkin'  a  kettleful 
too  much  o'  Hiven  she  is  night  an'  day  jist 
now.  —  an'  by  the  same  token  she  's  been  at 
the  Bible  agin  an'  agin  an'  had  tay  three 
times  this  blessed  day  wid  no  meals  goin', 
an'  iver  since  that  —  that  umbrelly  —  that 
umbrelly  waved  that  ould  napkin  about, 
wid  a  hole  in  it,  —  as  I  says  to  her  at  the 
toime,  an'  she  glum  as  a  poker  in  a  fire  wid 
the  fire  out,  —  wid  a  rint  in  it  dishgracin'  to  a 
dacint  inn,  let  alone  the  man  wid  the  um- 
brelly bein'  a  gintleman,  an'  God  knows  if —  ' 

"  Stop  !  Stop  1  You  're  off,  Moriarty  !  A 
280 


Wives  in  Exile 

railway  train 's  nothing  to  you.  And  you  're 
all  mixt  up,  —  the  inn  and  the  gintleman  and 
the  hole  and  the  napkin  and  tay  at  the 
wrong  time,  and  the  Bible  and  Macfee,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  Almighty  !  " 

"  Och,  shure,  an  no  harm  mint !  Well, 
well,  Capting  Adair,  mum,  what  I  comed 
aft  for  to  say  is  this.  The  sun's  jist  drippin' 
into  the  say — an'  there's  not  a  boat  in 
sight  astern  —  an'  we  slippin'  along  like  rum 
out  o'  a  bottle  on  a  Saturday  noight !  —  an' 
we  thought  it  ud  be  a  good  thing,  bekas  o' 
the  thankfulness  we  have,  barrin'  Macfee, 
that  we  showed  it  by  the  laste  bit  o'  a 
confligration." 

"  By  a  conflagration,  Mrs.  Moriarty?  That 
would  be  rather  dangerous,  would  it  not?" 

"  Oh,  ye  don't  take  my  maynin',  mum. 
'T  is  a  little  blow-up,  I  mane.  If  ye  had  a 
gun,  now !  or  even  a  fowlin'  piece  —  or 
for  the  matter  o'  that  a  piatol  —  the  noise 
we  cud  make  wid  it  ud  wake  the  dead  in  the 
deep  say  !  " 

"  Alas,  we  have  n't.  But  could  n't  you 
fill  the  kettle  with  gunpowder  and  blow  up 
the  cuddy?  " 

281 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Ah,  't  is  laffin'  at  me,  ye  are,  Capting  !  " 

"  No,  indeed.  1  would  n't  think  of  such 
a  thing.  But  let  us  dip  the  flag  three  times 
and  give  a  rousing  cheer.  It 's  safe  enough. 
There  's  no  one  to  hear  us  out  hereabouts." 

And  what  cheers  they  were  !  And  what 
a  dipping  that  ensign  got ! 

And  then  —  the  dinner  ! 

The  dishes  triddled  about  now  and  again ; 
the  planks  groaned  and  creaked ;  there  was 
a  frequent  roll  and  an  occasional  plunge ; 
but  Honor  and  Leonora  both  laughed 
gleefully. 

The  sea-fiend  was  laid. 

If  once  he  thought  he  had  slipped  in  to 
spoil  that  joyous  feast,  he  paid  bitterly  for 
his  presumption,  —  for  he  fell  into  the 
Monopole  extra  sec,  and  was  drowned  in 
that  frothed  and  sparkling  liquid  gold.  If 
his  wan  corpse  had  any  life  left  in  it  when 
the  bottle  was  emptied,  as  it  was  with  an 
expedition  that  would  have  made  Richard 
P.  —  connoisseur  as  he  was  —  proud  of  his 
wife  and  her  friend,  its  last  convulsion  would 
have  quiveringly  died  out  when  the  cigar- 
ettes were  lit. 

282 


Wives  in   Exile 

O  happy  audacity !  Brave  heroism  of 
women,  ever  more  dauntless  than  poets  and 
other  timid  gentles  would  have  them  !  A 
dinner,  wrought  marvellously  by  Moriarty, 
with  champagne  and  pa7-fait  amour  and 
black  coffee,  with  cigarettes  as  the  incense 
after  the  festival,  —  and  all  this  in  a  roughish 
sea  out  on  the  stormiest  part  of  the  stormy 
Hebridean  seas  ! 

Was  it  the  excitement  of  that  wonderful 
day  —  or  the  champagne  —  or  the  parfait 
amour  —  that  sustained  them  even  when, 
at  moonrise,  they  went  on  deck  and  found 
the  Belle  Auroj-e  with  half  her  sail  taken  in, 
and  the  mainsail  with  what  Leonora  called  a 
couple  of  tucks  in  it,  and  all  around  them  a 
dark  sea  filled  with  leaping  white  waves  ? 

Not  a  qualm  seized  them,  and,  when  at 
last  they  turned  in,  they  undressed  with  light 
hearts,  and  at  once  fell  into  slumber  so  deep 
that,  hours  later,  they  did  not  hear  the 
clanging  rush  of  the  anchor  as  the  yacht 
nosed  wind  and  tide  in  Canna  haven. 


283 


CHAPTER  XVni 


"  QO,  we  're  ii 
k3     marked 


in  Canna,  Miss  Macfee  ?  "  re- 
Honor,  pleasantly,  to  that 
officer  when  she  came  with  a  cup  of  tea  at 
seven  bells. 

"  Aye,  mem,  we  are ;  an  like  to  bide  here 
for  a  spell  inta  the  bargain." 

"Oh,  why's  that?" 

"  The  weather 's  gaun  into  a  gale,  wi' 
floods  of  rain.     Canna  ye  hear  it?  " 

"Yes,  I  do  hear  both  the  rain  and  the  wind. 
But  the  yacht  is  as  quiet  as  a  mouse,  —  ex- 
cept for  a  slight  swell." 

"  It 's  God's  providence,  mem,  we  are 
whaur  we  are.  If  we  war  oot  on  the  open 
sea  the  noo,  we  'd  hae  the  waiter  aboon  our 
ears  I  'm  thinkin'.  We  're  just  tuckit  awa' 
as  snug  an'  safe  as  though  we  war  in  a  dry 
dock.  We  're  in  Castle  Bay,  in  the  hollow 
o'  Sanday,  an'  sheltered  from  every  wind 
284 


Wives  in  Exile 

that  can  blaw,  an'  maist  o'  all  from  this  wild 
westerly  gale  that 's  makin'  siccan  a  weary 
warstle  oot  yonner  on  the  open  sea." 

"  There  's  no  saying  how  long  we  may  be 
here,  then?  " 

"  Nane  ava.  We  maun  bide  till  the  win' 
gaes  doon,  —  an'  by  the  look  o't  there  's  mair 
to  come." 

"  Have  the  crew  got  oilskins  and  sou'- 
westers?  " 

"  Aye,  mem,  they  have  that." 

"  Well,  just  go  and  see  that  they  have  hot 
coffee  or  tea  whenever  they  want  it,  and  if 
you  think  it  advisable  for  them  to  take  some- 
thing stronger,  well  let  them  have  it." 

With  that  Miss  Macfee  went,  and  left  the 
two  captains  chatting  cosily  from  their  bunks. 

"  Is  n't  this  luxury,  Nora?  "  Captain  Adair 
exclaimed,  tucking  the  blankets  about  her, 
"  to  hear  the  wild  wind  and  rain  outside, 
and  to  lie  here  and  not  need  to  care  a  straw 
about  it  !  Why,  there  is  n't  even  a  drag  at 
the  anchor." 

"  And  to  know,  too,  that  we  are  safe  from 
pursuit !  They  would  never  look  for  us  here  ; 
and  in  any  case  this  gale  will  prevent  any 
285 


Wives  In  Exile 

boat,  whether  sailing  vessel  or  steamer,  making 
for  Canna  to-day." 

And  a  pleasant  restful  day  it  proved, 
though  there  was  little  fresh  air  to  be  had 
because  of  the  drenching  rain,  and  nothing 
to  be  seen  on  account  of  the  sea-mist. 

It  was  delightful,  however,  to  lounge  about 
in  that  pleasant  cabin,  and  read  or  chat  or 
idle,  just  as  the  spirit  moved  one  to  do.  Mrs. 
Wester,  indeed,  declared  that  she  had  never 
before  known  that  it  was  possible  to  read  in 
summer  with  the  same  gusto  as  in  wild  winter 
weather. 

By  the  evening,  nevertheless,  they  had 
begun  to  weary  a  little.  The  ceaseless  sough 
of  the  wind  was  depressing,  and  the  rain 
came  down  as  though  the  sea  of  the  antipo- 
des had  made  a  somersault  and  were  pouring 
upon  these  northern  waters. 

By  eight  bells  in  the  first  watch  there  was 
no  change.  Honor  and  Leonora  decided 
that  bed  was  the  best  place  wherein  to  sulk, 
and  they  did  so  so  successfully  that  each 
forgot  all  about  the  other  and  sank  into  a 
happy  sleep. 

Next  morning  they  had  the  welcome  news 
286 


Wives  in  Exile 

that  the  rain  had  stopped  at  last,  and  that  the 
gale  had  moderated  slightly,  though  still  a 
stiff  one. 

They  had  made  up  their  minds  to  another 
day's  enforced  idleness ;  but  a  surprise 
awaited  them. 

About  noon  a  small  boat  put  off  from  the 
Canna  shore,  and  soon  was  alongside. 

"  There  will  pe  nobody  at  all  at  all  at  the 
Castle,"  explained  the  very  Highland  boat- 
man, a  shock-headed,  red-haired,  freckled 
young  man,  tall  and  bonily  angular ;  "  an' 
there  's  need  for  ta  help  at  ta  ither  end  o' 
the  island.  A  yacht  will  pe  going  ashore 
there." 

"  IViJlhQ  going?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Wester, 
"but  why  cannot  it  be  warned  off  in  time?  " 

"  Hoots,  leddy,  it  will  pe  going,  I  am  for 
tellin'  ye,  an'  it  is  no  longer  any  time  for  it 
to  have  gone  to  nor'ard  or  suth'ard." 

"And  what 's  happened?  "  asked  Honor, 
who  understood  the  predicament. 

"  Oh,  she  's  just  gone  to  pieces,  she  has." 

'*  No  lives  lost,  I  hope  ?  "  Mrs.  Adair  broke 
in,  eagerly. 

"  Na,  na,  sure  an'  there  are  no  lives  that 
287 


Wives  in  Exile 

will  pe  dying  ;  only  the  yacht  she  will  pe  all 
in  pieces,  an'  the  shentleman  that  sails  her 
he  is  for  lyin'  down  wid  ta  sorrow  for  that  he 
cannot  pe  upon  Greenock  when  he  wants." 

"  We  must  see  to  this  castaway,  Nora. 
Let  us  go  at  once.  Our  friend  here  will 
take  us." 

The  rumor  proved  to  be  true.  On  the 
west  side  of  Canna  a  yacht  had  been  driven 
on  to  the  rocks  and  had  foundered,  fortu- 
nately not  till  after  the  small  crew  of  two 
men  and  a  boy  had  got  safely  ashore,  as  well 
as  the  owner. 

The  latter  came  to  meet  the  ladies. 

He  was  a  tall,  good-looking  man,  with  the 
unmistakable  bearing  of  distinction.  His 
short  grayish  hair  fitted  close  to  his  bronzed 
face,  with  its  clean-cut  features,  dark  mous- 
tache, and  keen  gray-blue  eyes.  In  a  few 
words  he  explained  his  disaster ;  how  he  had 
left  Loch  Maddy  in  South  Uist,  despite  the 
weather  warnings  of  the  wise  fishermen,  but 
determined  to  get  to  Greenock  as  soon  as 
he  could  ;  that  is,  in  his  3racht,  The  Foam, 
however,  was  caught  in  the  central  swing  of 
the  gale,  and  despite  all  that  could  be  done 


Wives  in  Exile 

to  avert  the  disaster,  was  driven  to  destruc- 
tion against  Canna. 

He  was  an  Englishman  ;  that  was  evident 
from  his  voice  and  accent.  Soon  they  learned 
from  him  who  he  was  :  Sir  Jasper  Wingrave, 
of  Llanidloe  Hall,  in  West  Hereford. 

Honor  and  Leonora  introduced  them- 
selves, and  explained  as  much  as  they  saw 
fit.  Then,  learning  that  there  was  no  inn  on 
Canna,  and  that  the  factor  was  away  and  his 
house  shut  up,  and  that  the  Castle  was  not 
yet  opened  for  the  summer,  they  offered  him 
the  accommodation  of  the  Belle  Ain-ore. 

"  We  have  a  spare  cabin,  Sir  Jasper,"  Mrs. 
Wester  added  cordially,  "  and  you  are  wel- 
come to  it,  and  to  such  hospitality  as  we  can 
give  you,  till  this  gale  abates,  which  will 
probably  be  to-morrow." 

"  Alas,  dear  lady,  it  is  much  more  likely 
to  spring  up  anew.  I  know  these  seas  well. 
But  even  if  it  does  n't  I  can't  expect  to  get 
away  from  here  for  a  week  at  least,  —  for 
there  's  no  south-steamer  due  for  six  days 
yet,  and  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  a  smack, 
coble,  or  wherry  in  the  island  at  present. 
Would  nothing  tempt  you  —  wind  and  weather 
19  289 


Wives  in  Exile 

permitting  —  to  take  me  across  to  Sligachan 
in  Skye,  or  to  Arasaig  in  Argyll,  or  to  Tober- 
mory in  Mull?" 

"Well,"  Leonora  began  hesitatingly,  "  we 
are  eagerly  awaiting  a  chance  to  get  on  to 
the  Hebrides,  and  every  hour  is  of  impor- 
tance to  us.  Still,  of  course,  if — if — of 
course,  if  you  cannot  get  away  by  any  other 
means,  we  '11  put  the  Belle  Aurore  back. 
Only,  not  at  Tobermory.  If  all  the  same 
to  you,  Sligachan  in  Skye  would  be  the  best 
for  us." 

"  Sligachan  be  it,  madam.  And  you  have 
me  your  grateful  debtor  for  evermore.  I 
thank  you  both  heartily  for  your  great  cour- 
tesy. And  now,  as  I  am  rather  wet  and 
chill,  and  as  you  have  filled  me  with  curiosity 
to  see  the  Belle  Aurore,  I  throw  myself  on 
your  mercy  straightway." 

"And  your  men.  Sir  Jasper?" 

"  They  are  arranged  for,  Mrs.  Adair.  They 
will  stay  here  till  the  steamer  comes  six  days 
hence.  Fortunately  both  are  Gaelic  islemen, 
so  they  will  be  quite  happy  here  ;  and  as  for 
the  boy  it  will  be  a  delightful  spree  for  him." 

"  Then  come  !  We  cannot  offer  you  a 
290 


Wives   in  Exile 

change  of  clothes,  —  though  you  said,  I  think, 
that  most  of  your  wardrobe  had  been  got 
out  before  the  Foam  went  down?  —  but  we 
can  promise  you  a  good  dinner,  good  wine, 
and  good  coffee." 

"  And  what  is  best  of  all,  —  though  you  do 
not  need  to  promise  it! — good  company. 
A  little  while  ago  I  was  sorry  for  the  loss  of 
the  Foam;  now  I  rejoice  at  it." 


291 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SIR  JASPER  was  right.  The  gale  in- 
creased towards  evening,  after  a  tempo- 
rary lull,  and  the  rain  came  down  as  though  its 
previous  efforts  were  a  mere  shower  or  two. 

Nevertheless  a  delightful  evening  was  spent 
on  the  Belle  Aurore.  Sir  Jasper  Wingrave 
was  a  man  who  knew  how  to  rise  to  an 
occasion,  and  an  occasion  such  as  that  which 
had  just  happened  might  not  occur  to  him 
again  in  eternity. 

He  was  charmed  with  everything ;  with 
his  hosts  most  of  all,  with  the  dainty  dinner 
provided  by  Mrs.  Moriarty,  with  that  lady 
herself,  with  the  crew,  with  the  whole  es- 
capade. Fervently  he  prayed  that  no  steamer 
would  put  in  at  Canna.  His  fear  was  a 
search-boat  of  some  kind  ;  for  the  gale  had 
been  and  still  was  so  severe  that  great  anx- 
iety would  be  felt  concerning  all  yachts  at 
sea. 

292 


Wives  in   Exile 

As  for  Honor  and  Leonora,  they  were 
well  content,  for  Sir  Jasper  was  one  of  the 
most  amusing  and  delightful  companions 
they  had  ever  met.  A  cosmopolitan,  he 
seemed  to  have  sojourned  in  every  country, 
to  have  friends  in  every  land,  and  to  see 
the  good  side  of  every  nation.  They  could 
read  between  the  hues,  and  see  that  he  had 
served  with  distinction,  both  as  a  political 
officer  and  as  a  diplomatist. 

There  was  only  one  thing  that  disturbed 
them.  What  would  Richard  and  Wilfrid 
think  about  the  Belle  Aiirore  ?  If  they  had 
any  reason  to  believe  that  the  yacht  had  not 
gone  to  Skye,  or  kept  to  the  haven-frequented 
coast,  they  would  be  terribly  anxious  about 
her  fate.  The  storm  had  been  far  more  vio- 
lent than  they  had  surmised.  In  their  safe 
"  burrow,"  as  Sir  Jasper  laughingly  called  it, 
they  could  hear  the  wild  surge  of  the  wind 
and  the  roar  of  the  sea,  but  even  thus  had 
been  unable  to  realize  that  the  gale  was,  as 
this  castaway  assured  them,  one  of  the  worst 
that  had  swept  those  seas  for  a  long  time. 

Nor  could  he  hold  out  much  hope  of  fine 
weather.  After  the  too  fine  spring,  he  said, 
293 


Wives  in  Exile 

there  was  bound  to  be  a  stormy  summer, 
and,  apologizing  for  being  so  ill  conditioned 
a  prophet,  he  foretold  gale  after  gale  till  the 
Clerk  of  the  Weather  had  got  over  his  sulks. 

All  this  brought  about  a  decision  on  the 
part  of  the  captains  of  the  Belle  Aurore. 

That  night,  before  they  turned  in,  and 
after  they  had  discussed  Sir  Jasper  thoroughly, 
they  agreed  that  they  would  set  sail  for  the 
Frith  of  Clyde  the  moment  they  could  ven- 
ture to  do  so.  At  Greenock  they  would  be 
sure  to  find  definite  word  as  to  the  where- 
abouts of  their  bewildered  spouses,  and 
could  communicate  with  them.  Then,  too, 
it  would  be  safer  and  pleasanter  to  voyage 
about  among  the  beautiful  lochs  that  reach 
from  the  Frith  in  all  directions. 

Honor  did  not  tell  Leonora,  nor  did 
Leonora  hint  to  Honor,  that  the  prolonged 
company  of  Sir  Jasper  Wingrave  was  a 
further  inducement. 

Next  morning  that  gentleman  learned,  by 
a  chance  allusion  he  made,  that  his  friends 
Colonel  Lascelles  and  the  Master  of  Ruth- 
ven  were  yachting  in  the  West  of  Scotland. 

For  a  moment  the  ladies  were  embarrassed. 
294 


Wives   in   Exile 

"  Have  you  seen  them  recently,"  their 
guest  asked,  with  his  eyes  concentrated  on 
the  interior  of  the  egg  he  was  eating,  for  in 
a  glance  he  had  noted  that  the  mention  of 
the  names  had  brought  a  flush  to  the  faces 
of  his  companions. 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Wester  repUed,  with  rather 
too  emphasized  nonchalance,  "  we  saw  them 
a  short  time  ago.  They  were,  I  think,  going 
to  sail  to  Greenock.  Their  yachting  trip 
was  about  over,  and  they  had  to  give  up  the 
Sea  Hawk." 

"  The  Sea  Hawk  ?  That  is  not  the  name 
of  Lascelles'  boat.  What  was  it,  —  a  screw 
or  a  sailing  yacht?  A  yacht?  —  oh,  then, 
there  must  be  some  mistake.  He  has  a  fine 
screw-yacht,  the  No?'fh  Star,  a  boat  of  about 
a  hundred  tons.  If  he  were  in  the  Sea 
Hawk  it  must  have  been  for  a  short  cruise 
while  he  was  waiting  for  the  Star.  What  a 
pleasant  fellow  he  is  !  " 

"Very." 

"And  Douglas  Stuart,  too?" 

"  Yes,  charming." 

"  Where  did  you  meet  them  ?  You  were 
old  acquaintances,  I  suppose?" 

29s 


Wives  in  Exile 

"  Oh,  we  met  them  off  the  Lamlash  side 
of  Arran.  Mrs.  Adair  and  I  were  away  from 
the  Belle  Aurore  on  a  brief  excursion.  We 
met." 

"  Ah,  I  see." 

But  a  little  later,  Honor  betrayed  the 
mystery.  He  was  delighted  ;  and  privately 
thanked  his  stars  that  fortune  had  behaved 
more  kindly  to  him. 

The  rest  of  the  day  passed  pleasantly. 
Both  captains  declared  that  they  did  not 
mind  how  long  the  bad  weather  lasted.  In 
the  heart  of  each,  however,  there  was  a 
slight  qualm.  Was  not  Sir  Jasper  Wingrave 
too  delightful  a  companion?  And  —  and  — 
whom  did  he  really  prefer,  —  Honor  or  Leo- 
nora? A  faint  odor  of  heart-burning  began 
to  blend  with  the  fragrance  of  blithe  happi- 
ness which  prevailed. 

That  evening,  Miss  Macfee  gave  notice. 

"But  why.  Miss  Macfee?"  expostulated 
Mrs.  Wester,  while  Honor  sat  by  with  a  quiet 
smile. 

"  Weel,  mem,  to  be  frank,  I  'm  not  carin' 
for  what 's  goin'  on." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Macfee?" 
296 


Wives   in   Exile 

"  We  're  no  sailin'  onywhaur,  an'  —  an'  — 
ye  ken  weel  yer  husbands  maun  be  gae  ank- 
shious  aboot  ye  —  an'  —  an'  —  what  \vi'  this 
an'  what  wi'  that  —  I  jist  think  I  maun  ask  tae 
be  excused  frae  further  service  as  soon  as  ye 
git  to  a  place  whaur  I  can  leave  ye'." 

"  As  you  like,  Macfee.  You  will  have  an 
opportunity  soon  ;  for  if  the  weather  permits 
we  think  of  leaving  to-morrow  for  Greenock, 
which  Sir  Jasper  is  anxious  to  reach  as  soon 
as  he  can,  and  where  we  hope  to  hear  of 
Mr.  Adair  and  Mr.  AVester." 

This  politic  answer  wrought  a  complete 
change  in  Miss  Macfee.  Her  primness 
thawed,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  she 
was  almost  officiously  agreeable.  When  she 
came  to  Mrs.  Wester's  cabin,  when  the  lights 
were  put  out,  and  heard  that  the  captain 
had  decided  to  make  for  Greenock,  she  with- 
drew her  resignation. 

"Then  don't  be  such  a  fool  again.  Miss 
Macfee." 

"  Indeed,  mem,  I  winna.     But   I  've  not 

been    weel,    partly    wi'    this    weather,  —  sic 

weather  as  nae  mortal  body  could  expec'  at 

this  time  o'  the  year  —  an'  partly  wi'  Mrs. 

297 


Wives  in  Exile 

Moriarty,  who  has  the  morals  o'  a  cat  an'  the 
manners  o'  a  scallywag,  tho'  the  Lord  kens 
what  that  means,  tho'  she  's  aye  usin'  it." 

And  it  was  the  repentant  Macfee  herself 
who,  an  hour  after  sunrise,  came  with  the 
good  news  that,  though  the  skies  were  still 
gray  and  lowering,  the  wind  had  fallen  to  a 
pleasant  breeze,  and  that  the  sea  had  mod- 
erated considerably. 

With  Sir  Jasper's  willing  help,  the  Belle 
Aurore  was  soon  under  weigh.  He  took  the 
wheel,  for  careful  steering  would  be  neces- 
sary the  moment  the  yacht  emerged  from  the 
calm  strait  into  the  still  turbulent  open  sea. 

Honor  and  Leonora  took  but  a  slight 
interest  in  breakfast ;  in  fact,  so  interested 
were  they  in  some  books  they  had  that  they 
did  not  rise  from  their  bunks  till  late  in  the 
afternoon. 

By  this  time  the  yacht  was  well  south. 
The  morning  breeze  had  freshened  into  a 
strong  wind  from  the  north,  and  so  the 
utmost  possible  running  was  made. 

Sir  Jasper  politely  consulted  with  Mrs. 
Moriarty,  and  they  agreed  to  sail  due  south. 

The  captains,  however,  were  temporarily 
298 


Wives  in  Exile 

subdued,  not  beaten.  As  the  yacht  passed 
a  mile  or  two  to  the  westward  of  lona,  they 
came  on  deck  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  famous 
island,  where  it  lay  low  in  the  sea  against 
the  wonderful  background  of  the  Mull 
Mountains. 

From  that  time  onward,  too,  they  acted 
as  skippers.  Not  even  a  suggestion  was 
allowed  to  be  made  by  the  guest,  who  was 
reminded  that  he  was  only  a  castaway  and 
must  be  obedient.     He  gladly  obeyed. 

The  sun  set  luridly  as  they  sighted  the 
Mull  of  Cantyre,  and  by  the  look  of  the  wild 
sky  to  westward,  though  it  boded  fresh  wind 
rather  than  wet,  they  were  glad  to  know  that 
the  bow  of  tlie  Belle  Aurore  would  in  an 
hour  or  two  be  pointing  northeastward. 

A  fitful  moonlit  evening,  with  driving 
clouds  and  occasional  scurries  of  rain,  fol- 
lowed ;  and  by  the  time  the  Mull  was 
actually  rounded,  a  heavy  fall  again  began. 
The  wind,  too,  slackened  under  the  lee  of 
the  Cantyre  coast. 

When  Mrs.  Wester  and  Mrs.  Adair  woke 
next  morning,  it  was  to  find  the  yacht  slowly 
gliding  northward  off  the  south  coast  of 
299 


Wives  in   Exile 

Arran,  and  within  sight  of  the  spot  where 
they  had  so  nearly  ended  their  voyage  in 
tragic  fashion. 

Sir  Jasper  assured  them  that  the  wind 
would  certainly  freshen  the  moment  it 
veered  a  little  more  to  the  southwest,  as  it 
was  trying  to  do  ;  and  shortly  after  luncheon 
his  prophecy  was  fulfilled. 

In  a  spanking  sou'west  breeze  the  yacht 
raced  up  the  Frith,  taking  the  course  be- 
tween Garroch  Head  at  the  mouth  of  Bute 
and  the  two  Cumbraes.  An  hour  later  they 
were  off  Wemyss  Bay,  and  in  the  beautiful 
reach  between  the  west  coast  of  Renfrew- 
shire and  the  lovely  east  coast  of  the  Cowal, 
clothed  with  wood  and  studded  with  villas 
and  cottages  almost  in  an  unbroken  line 
from  Toward  Point  to  Dunoon. 

But  not  even  the  beauty  of  the  scene  could 
raise  the  spirits  of  Honor  and  Leonora. 

What  was  the  reason?  Alas,  they  put 
their  despondency  down  to  every  cause  but 
the  right  one. 

Sir  Jasper  Wingrave  would  have  to  bid 
farewell  to  them  in  an  hour  or  so.  To  each, 
there  came  with  this  thought  a  sentimental 
300 


I 


Wives  in  Exile 

regret  that  was  allowed  to  wear  a  richer 
apparel. 

"  But,"  thought  Honor,  "  it  is  possible 
after  all  that  he  cares  for  Leonora  more  than 
he  does  for  me."  (Then,  aloud  to  her  col- 
league :  — ) 

"  I  wonder  what  he  will  do,  Nora,  what  he 
will  think  when  he  leaves  us?  How  strange 
it  is  that  a  man  like  that  never  married  !  By 
the  way,  I  think  we  've  rather  taken  it  for 
granted  that  he  is  a  bachelor." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  am  sure  he  is  unmarried.  There 
is  a  look  about  him  as  though  he  were  so 
happy  and  contented  —  and — "    , 

"  Oh,  Nora  !  Nora  !  —  Hist,  here  he 
comes." 

In  less  than  an  hour  the  Belle  Aurore  lay 
off  Greenock  at  the  Tail  of  the  bank. 

On  Prince's  Pier  they  could  plainly  see 
some  one  waving.     Was  it  to  them? 

How  were  they  to  know  that  the  Laird  of 
Canna,  who  had  been  fishing  in  the  South 
Hebrides,  had  returned  to  the  island  an  hour 
or  so  after  they  had  left  it ;  had  heard  of  the 
wreck  of  the  Foam,  and  of  the  safety  of  his 
friend  Sir  Jasper  Wingrave ;  of  the  safety, 
301 


Wives  in  Exile 

also,  of  the  yacht,  Belle  Aurore ;  and  of  the 
departure  of  the  latter  for  Greenock,  with 
Sir  Jasper  on  board. 

"Who  can  it  be?" 

"  I  think  I  can  guess,  Mrs.  Wester,"  Sir 
Jasper  answered,  with  an  inscrutable  smile. 

"  It  is,  I  fancy,  Lady  Wingrave." 

"  Lady  Wingrave  ?  " 

"  Yes.     My  wife." 

Honor  and  Leonora  looked  at  each  other. 
After  all,  their  eyes  seemed  to  say,  yachting 
a  deux  was  tiresome.  Had  they  not  better 
wire  for  Richard  and  Wilfrid? 

"You  must  let  me  go  ashore  and  bring 
my  wife  back  to  thank  you  for  all  your  kind 
and  generous  care  of  me." 

"We  shall  be  delighted.  Sir  Jasper," 
Honor  answered,  her  voice  cordial,  her  eyes 
grave. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  write  Fi7iis  to  this 
brief  episode.  During  Sir  Jasper's  absence 
Honor  and  Leonora  made  no  remarks. 
Each  wondered  why  the  other  did  n't  speak, 
or  go  below,  or  do  something. 

When  the  dingey  came  out  again,  ten 
minutes  later.  Sir  Jasper  stepped  on  board, 
302 


Wives  in  Exile 

and  helped  up  a  pleasant-eyed  and  distin- 
guished-looking woman  of  about  five  and 
thirty,  —  beautiful,  Honor  thought,  though 
Mrs.  Wester  admired  the  type  more  than  the 
individual,  perhaps  because  she  was  of  the 
same  type  as  Honor,  and  there  could  be  no 
rival  to  that  dear  and  beautiful  comrade. 

Tea  and  chit-chat  passed  the  time  pleas- 
antly enough,  but  it  was  a  relief  to  all  when 
Lady  Wingrave  rose  and  said  that  she  must 

go. 

As  for  their  late  guest,  both  Honor  and 
Leonora  discerned  in  him  a  certain  uneasi- 
ness :  was  it  mourning,  or  quiet  amusement  ? 

In  either  case,  it  was  now  well  to  —  set 
sail ! 

They  would  be  off  again  at  once,  they  said, 
as  they  declined  the  Wingraves'  invitation  to 
dine  with  them,  —  but  would  Sir  Jasper'  call 
at  the  Post-Office  and  send  them  on  any 
letters  or  telegrams  addressed  to  them,  to  the 
Paste  Restante,  Dunoon  ? 

And  so  —  explicit.  The  episode  was 
taken  hold  of  by  the  indifferent  hand  of 
Time,  docketed,  and  marked   "  Over." 

"  Mrs.  Moriarty,"  Leonora  remarked 
303 


Wives  in  Exile 

quietly,  "  I  am  glad  you  have  kept  the  sails 
on.  Let  her  pay  off,  we  are  not  going  to 
stay  here  to-night." 

It  was  a  disappointment,  but  there  was 
solace  for  the  first  officer  in  the  knowledge 
that  Miss  Macfee  would  fume  and  fret. 

"  Where  to,  Capting  Wester?  " 

"  Oh,  go  down  by  the  Cloch  Lighthouse 
again.  Then  tack  across  the  Frith  and 
bring  us  up  for  the  night  in  Dunoon  Bay." 

But  the  day  was  not  to  end  in  dull 
reaction. 

As  the  Belle  Aurore  glided  southward,  a 
yell  from  Mrs.  Moriarty  startled  Honor  and 
Leonora  out  of  their  despondency. 

"  What  on  earth  's  the  matter  with  Mori- 
arty? "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wester,  as  she  stared 
with  astonishment  at  that  officer,  who  stood 
with  her  right  arm  rigid,  and  apparently 
pointing  at  the  Lighthouse  as  though  it 
were  a  ghost. 

"What  is  it,  Moriarty?  " 

But  Honor  had  already  seen,  and  under- 
stood. 

There  was  the  Sea  Hawk,  not  quarter  of  a 
mile  away,  and  coming  straight  towards  them  ! 
304 


Wives  In   Exile 

"Out  with  every  stitch  of  sail  you  can," 
she  cried.  "  Up  with  the  helm  !  Let  her 
go,  Mrs.  Moriarty." 

All  was  now  wild  bustle  and  temporary 
confusion.  Honor  herself  gave  a  hand, 
while  Leonora  took  the  wheel. 

The  yacht  came  hard  up  to  starboard, 
payed  off  and  raced  away  on  a  northeast 
tack,  her  bowsprit  facing  Strone  Point  where 
it  divides  the  Holy  Loch  from  Loch  Long. 

They  could  clearly  discern  two  men  stand- 
ing aft  on  the  Sea  Hawk  shouting  and  wav- 
ing frantically. 

"  So  much  for  the  manners  of  Colonel 
Lascelles  and  Mr.  Douglas  Stuart,"  said 
Honor,  indignantly. 

**  Impudent  wretches,"  Leonora  added. 
"  And  Honor  !  don't  let  us  look  at  them  ! 
If  we  take  up  the  glass,  they  '11  see  us  doing 
it.     Let  us  ignore  them  altogether." 

"  Yes  ;  but  ignoring  won't  do  much  good. 
We  're  on  the  wrong  tack  to  escape  them. 
We  must  either  go  up  Loch  Long  or  into 
the  Holy  Loch  as  we  're  bound,  —  and  then 
they'll  have  us  in  a  trap." 

"  Then  round  with  us  at  once,  and  let  us 
20  305 


Wives  in   Exile 

race  them.      I  'm  sure  the  Belle  Aurore  's 
much  the  better  boat." 

So  once  more  the  yacht  swung  round,  and 
now  went  flying  down  the  Frith  with  her  bow 
towards  Inellan. 

The  Sea  Hawk  got  her  spanker  out,  and  fol- 
lowed with  the  foam  sweeping  from  her  bows. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Moriarty  began  a  chuckling 
laugh. 

"  What  is  it,  Captings  dear  ?  It 's  well ; 
askin'  that  ye  may  be.  In  the  first  place  'tis 
gainin'  we  are,  an'  at  ivery  yard.  In  the 
nixt  place,  look  at  that  yonder  !  " 

"What's  thatr' 

"  Why,  Capting,  it 's  mist  —  fog  —  sea-fog  ; 
that 's  what  it  is,  the  Sints  be  praised.  We  '11 
be  in  it  in  tin  minnuts,  an'  then  the  Sea  Hawk 
may  dance  till  her  bowsprit  nips  her  helm, 
an'  she  won't  find  us,  save  by  a  f  hluke,  which 
God  forefind!" 

Probably  those  on  the  Sea  Hawk  noted 
both  these  points.  The  waving  still  con- 
tinued, and  the  flags  flew  in  some  signal 
which  nobody  on  board  the  Belle  Aurore 
could  interpret,  or  would  have  cared  to  do  if 
they  could. 

306 


Wives  in   Exile 

At  last  a  gun  was  fired. 

The  captains  smiled. 

"  They  may  blow  up,  if  they  like,"  said 
Leonora,  calmly,  "  but  we  won't  pay  the  least 
attention." 

But  Mrs.  Moriarty's  prophecy  was  more 
than  fulfilled,  for  in  half  the  time  she  had 
specified  they  were  right  into  a  bank  of  driv- 
ing sea-mist. 

The  moment  they  were  well  enshrouded, 
the  course  was  altered  somewhat ;  and  the 
yacht  went  off  upon  the  larboard  tack,  hard 
for  the  Cumbraes. 

"  We  '11  go  round  Bute  and  past  Arran, 
and  get  safe  into  Tarbert,  Honor,  after  all !  " 

"  Hurrah  !  Addio,  Colonel  Lascelles  ! 
Addio,  Mr.  Douglas  Stuart !  " 


307 


CHAPTER  XX 

AND  in  due  time  Tarbert  was  reached. 
The  morrow  proved  a  wet  and  stormy 
day,    and    Honor    and    Leonora   contented 
themselves  on  board. 

That  evening,  however,  they  went  ashore, 
naturally  they  inquired  at  the  Post-Ofifice  for 
any  letters  or  telegrams.  There  were  no 
letters,  but  four  telegrams  were  handed  to 
them,  two  to  each. 

These  duplicates,  each  signed  by  the  re- 
spective husbands,  ran  as  follows  :  — 

(i)  (Dated  five  days  earlier)  :  '*  If  this  reach  you, 
wire  at  once,  cjo  Du7idonald,  Boat  Builder, 
Greenock." 

(2)  (Bearing  the  current  date) :  ^'  Await  us  in  Tar- 
bert if  you  call  there,  we  expect  to  arrive  there 
this  evening^ 

Here  was  an  awkward  predicament.     Mrs. 
Wester  and  Mrs.  Adair  at  once  turned.     At 
the  pier  they  learned  that  the  second  steamer 
308 


Wives  in  Exile 

was  due  about  seven.  Unfortunately,  no 
other  steamer  called,  either  northward  or 
southward  bound,  till  the  morrow.  Still 
more  unfortunately  a  calm  prevailed,  and  the 
little  wind  there  was  blew  straight  for  Tar- 
bert  Harbor.  It  was  now  just  turned  six ; 
there  was  no  time  to  get  the  yacht  out  of  the 
harbor,  or  to  sail  her  out  of  the  sight  of  the 
incoming  steamer. 

"  Caught  at  last,  Honor  1  "  Mrs.  Wester 
exclaimed  with  half  angry,  half  amused  de- 
spair. 

"  No,  not  quite  yet,  Nora.  I  have  a  plan- 
Here  it  is.  You  know  that  this  is  an  isthmus  ? 
Well,  a  mile  or  less  from  here,  the  narrow 
West  Loch  Tarbert  runs  straight  to  the 
Atlantic.  Down  this  West  Loch  Tarbert  a 
steamer  for  the  Island  of  Islay  runs.  Three 
days  a  week  at  this  season  there  is  an  extra 
evening  run,  on  the  arrival  of  the  lona  here. 
A  trap  waits  at  this  pier  to  take  passengers 
across,  —  there  it  is,  yonder  !  Carriages, 
also,  —  there  they  are  !  " 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  my  plan  is  this  :  We  go  on  board 
now,  and  arrange  with  Mrs.  Moriarty.  She 
309 


Wives  in  Exile 

must  say  that  the  birds  are  flown ;  and  that 
her  instructions  are  to  wait  here  till  she  hears 
from  wherever  we  go  to  (that  is,  don^t  go 
to),  and  that  although  we  may  not  return  for 
a  month  to  come." 

"  Yes,  and  what  then?  " 

"Then  we  must  take  a  few  necessaries 
with  us,  and  go  ashore  again.  We  shall  hire 
the  foremost  of  those  carriages,  and  seat 
ourselves.  From  there  we  can  have  an  un- 
interrupted view  of  the  passengers  who  land 
at  this  pier.  If  we  see  Richard  and  Wilfrid, 
we  can  at  once  decamp.  They  will,  of 
course,  have  descried  the  Belle  Aiirore. 
While  they  are  boarding  us,  we  '11  be  on 
board  of  the  West  Loch  Tarbert  boat,  and 
on  our  way  to  Islay  !  " 

"  Honor  Adair,  if  ever  a  woman  deserved 
to  be  called  Madame  Napoleon  it 's  you  ! 
Your  strategy  is  splendid." 

All  was  done,  accordingly.  Mrs.  Moriarty, 
somewhat  saddened  at  being  "out  of  it," 
promised  to  keep  the  secret,  and  also  to  send 
Polly  Jones  with  telegraphic  messages  when- 
ever advisable.  By  the  time  that  the  red 
.  funnels  of  the  lojia  appeared  just  outside 
310 


Wives  in  Exile 

Loch  Tarbert,  the  two  ladies  were  sitting 
safely  ensconced  in  a  shaky  but  presumably 
drivable  wagonette. 

It  was  an  exciting  moment  when  the 
steamer  drew  alongside  the  pier,  and  the 
passengers  began  to  disembark. 

Two  —  six  —  ten  —  eleven  in  all !  But, 
of  Mr.  Wester  or  of  Mr.  Adair,  no  sign  ! 

What  did  it  mean? 

"  Hae  yer  freens  come,  mem?  "  inquired 
the  driv^er,  anxiously.  "  Shall  ye  wait  for  them  ? 
The  Islay  boat  doesna  wait  lang." 

"  No,  there  's  your  fare,  my  man.  We 
won't  go  now,  as  the  friends  we  were  ex- 
pecting have  n't  arrived.  Or  no,  wait  a 
moment !  It 's  turned  out  so  fine  after  this 
drizzling  day  that  we  '11  go  for  a  drive.  I 
must  just  go  out  to  that  yacht  there  first,  or 
rather  get  some  one  to  come  ashore.  Ah, 
there  goes  the  lona.  As  soon  as  she  's  out 
of  the  way  we  '11  get  our  dingey  ashore." 

The  driver  offered  to  do  the  summoning. 
He  had  a  voice,  he  boasted,  that  would  draw 
the  nails  out  of  a  ship's  keel. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  his  wild  yell  of  "  Mori- 
arty  ahoy  !  "  aroused  not  only  that  lady,  and 
311 


Wives  in  Exile 

all  the  crew  of  the  Belle  Aurore,  but  the 
occupant  of  every  fishing  smack  in  the 
harbor. 

In  five  minutes  she  was  ashore,  swiftly 
oared  by  O'Leary.  The  matter  was  dis- 
cussed, and  it  was  agreed  that  the  ladies 
should  call  at  the  Hotel  before  they  sum- 
moned the  dingey  to  take  them  off. 

This  settled,  the  drive  could  be  enjoyed ; 
and  enjoyed  it  was.  There  are  few  lovelier 
localities  than  the  vicinage  of  Tarbert  — 
when  it  can  be  seen  ;  but  it  is  a  wet  place, 
and  only  the  dauntlessly  sanguine  take  up 
their  abode  there  for  any  length  of  time. 

A  soft  velvety  darkness  obscured  head- 
land and  bay  —  save  where  the  latter  was 
partially  lit  by  the  lanterns  of  the  cobles  and 
fishing  smacks  —  when  Mrs.  Wester  and  Mrs. 
Adair  drove  back  through  the  little  town, 
delighted  with  their  trip  ashore  after  so  much 
seafaring.  They  were,  however,  eager  to 
get  back,  for  a  thick  white  mist  was  creeping 
in  from  the  sea. 

Between  the   last  of  the  little  shops  and 
the  Hotel  at  the  pier  they  were  accosted  by 
Polly,  shadowy  in  the  sea-fog. 
312 


Wives  in   Exile 

"  Ah  !  Something  up  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Wester  eagerly,  as  she  dismounted. 

"  Now  then,  Polly,  what  is  it?  " 

The  child  spoke  in  an  awed  whisper. 

"  Plase,  'm  !  Plase,  'm  !  She  's  alongside 
o'  us." 

"  Why  what  do  you  mean,  girl  ?  Who  's 
she?'' 

"  The  Scpk,  'm." 

"  The  Seok  ?     What 's  the  Seok  ?  " 

"  O  Nora  !  "  Honor  interjected,  catching 
her  breath  ;  "  she  means  the  Sea  Hawk  !  " 

"  Heavens  !  This  is  too  much  of  a  good 
thing.  Are  we  never  to  be  free  from  these 
people." 

"  Yes,  'm ;  and  they  've  put  a  man  on 
board  in  charge." 

«  Whatr' 

"  They  've  put  a  man  aboard  the  Belly 
Hooroar,  an'  he 's  to  prevent  the  Belly 
Hooroar  goin'  out ;  an'  Miss  Macfee  'as 
taken  to  a  cabin  she  is,  an'  lockt  herself  in, 
an'  Mrs.  Moriarty  'as  the  high  strikes  an'  is 
kickin'  orful !  " 

"Oh,  this  is  too  intolerable,  Nora,  what 
shall  we  do?  " 

313 


wives  in   Exile 

"  The  police  are  the  best  persons  to  call 
in,  if  there  are  any  here.  I  do  declare  ! 
To  follow  us  like  that,  and  actually  take  pos- 
session of  our  yacht !  Colonel  Lascelles 
must  think  —  " 

"  Oh  it  ain't  the  Kurnel,  'm,  as  is  on  the 
Seok  !  " 

"  JVof  the  Colonel  !     Then  who  is  it?  " 

"  Plase,  'm,  it 's  the  gintleman  wi'  the 
umbrelly  an'  the  dish-clout." 

"  Polly  Jones,  are  you  mad?  " 

"  No,  'm,  plase,  'm,  it  ain't  my  fault,  'm," 
sniffed  poor  Polly,  lugubriously. 

"  I  know  whom  she  means,  Nora,  She 
means  Richard  P.  Wester  !  " 

"  What?  Oh,  wait  —  of  course  —  I  re- 
member now  !  Polly,  do  you  know  who  the 
gentlemen  are  on  the  Sea  Hawk  ?  Are  they 
the  gentlemen  who  saved  us  from  drowning 
that  morning  off  Arran?  " 

"  No,  'm,  indade,  'm,  they  is  the  gintry  as 
was  at  the  inn  at  that  place  you  stopped  at 
and  wint  ashore  to  see,  —  thim  that  waved 
an'  hollered  an'  fired  pisthols." 

Honor  looked  at  Leonora. 

Leonora  looked  at  Honor. 
314 


Wives  in  Exile 

"What  is  to  be  done,  Nora?" 

"  I  see  it  all.  They  have  chartered  the 
Sea  Hmvk.  It  was  they  who  pursued  us 
after  we  left  Greenock.  And  now  they  have 
tracked  us,  have  us  in  a  trap,  and  have  taken 
possession  of  the  Belle  Aurore.  We  're 
done  for,  and  must  sue  for  pardon,  and  make 
the  best  terms  we  can." 

"  Not  so  fast,  dear.  I  have  an  idea. 
Come  here  a  moment." 

With  that,  Mrs.  Adair  drew  her  friend 
aside.  For  safety's  sake  they  had  not  yet 
dismissed  the  cab.  They  whispered  their 
plot  in  the  lee  of  that  vehicle. 

It  was,  however,  no  project  of  immediate 
flight.  Honor  scorned  either  retreat  or 
capitulation. 

The  driver  and  his  trap  were  now  dis- 
missed. The  conspirators  retired  to  the 
adjacent  bracken-covered  slope.  There 
Honor  disrobed  herself  of  a  petticoat.  She 
and  her  colleague  soon  divided  this.  Then 
calling  Polly,  they  went  down  to  the  beach, 
where  the  dingey  lay,  griding  her  keel  in 
the  tide-wash. 

In  a  couple  of  minutes  the  oars  were 
315 


Wives  in  Exile 

heavily  swathed  in  the  discarded  and  freshly 
sacrificed  petticoat. 

"  If  I  get  my  death  of  cold,"  Honor  mur- 
mured, "  Wilfrid  must  learn  that  it  was  he 
who  drove  me  to  this  crucial  risk  !  " 

"  Well,  dear,  I  think  we  '11  manage  to  give 
them  the  go-by  after  all." 

"  With  these  muffled  oars  and  the  thick 
mist,  j'our  plan  ought  to  succeed." 

"  We  '11  try.  '  A  person  too  regardful  of 
comfort  never  won  fair  Liberty,*  —  that 's 
our  reading,  to-night,  of  '  faint  heart  never 
won  fair  lady.'  " 

By  Honor's  direction  Leonora  sat  in  the 
stern,  with  the  tiller  ropes  in  her  hands ; 
while  she  rowed.  Polly  was  in  the  bow, 
face  forward. 

Slowly  and  silently  the  dingey  crossed  the 
little  loch.  When  it  was  almost  upon  the 
rocks  on  the  opposite  side,  it  turned  and 
came  slowly  back  upon  the  Belle  Aurore 
from  the  seaward  side. 

Unheard  and  invisible  it  glided  along  the 
starboard  side  of  the  yacht. 

On  the  other,  it  would  have  run  the  risk 
of  immediate  discovery,  for  the  Sea  Hawk 
316 


Wives  in  Exile 

was  not  twenty  feet  away,  and  a  casual  flare 
of  light  would  be.  fatal. 

Lightly  as  a  feather,  Polly  caught  the 
anchor-chain,  scaled  it,  and  disappeared  on 
deck. 

Three  minutes  thereafter  the  anxious,  and 
shivering  listeners  could  hear  the  heavy  tread 
of  Mrs.  Moriarty,  as  she  walked  to  and  fro 
with  some  one  of  a  heavier  tread  still.  When 
their  voices  broke  the  stillness,  there  was  no 
mistaking  the  unknown  one  for  that  of  a  man. 

"  Well,  well,  for  shure,  an'  I  'm  glad  you 
wuU  pe  feelin'  pettur,  Mrs.  Moriarty,"  Honor 
and  Leonora  heard  a  deep  Highland  voice 
say,  with  evident  cordiality :  and  with  eager 
ears  they  listened  to  the  conversation  that 
followed,  though  they  lost  Mrs.  Moriarty's 
first  reply. 

"  You  are  a  ferry  goot,  ma'am,  an'  I  'm 
not  denyin'  ut  a  wee  drappie  o'  hot  Caw- 
melton,  or  Talisker  either  for  ta  matter  o' 
that,  would  keep  awaay  this  ferry  pat  mist." 

"  Faith,  too,  an'  a  foine  strong  handsome 
man  loike  yirsilf  won't  be  despisin'  a  look 
into  a  steak  an'   kidney  pie,  surrindered  in 
bate-up  potaties  an'  biled  tommytoes?" 
317 


Wives  in  Exile 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation,  big  with 
fate.  When  the  man  spoke  it  was  with  a 
weary  sigh  of  resignation. 

"  It  would  pe  goot,  ma'am,  it  would  pe 
fe7-ry  goot,  but  it 's  not  to  pe  leavin'  the 
deck  I  am ;  not  meanwhile  whativer.  An' 
it 's  a  true  thing  it  is  that  steak  an'  kidney 
pie  is  ta  ferry  pest  food  I  know  of." 

"  Mr.  Macaulay,  you  belave  me  whin  I  tell 
ye  that  ye  've  niver  set  eyes  on  a  pie  like 
that  which  is  simperin'  down  in  the  cabin 
jist  as  though  it  was  the  purty  gyurl  that  is 
dyin'  for  yez  somewhere,  O  you  wild  darin' 
bad  man  that  yez  are  !  " 

A  pleased  Macaulayan  laugh  fell  hoarsely 
out  upon  the  mist,  and  then  sputtered  into 
the  damp  silence. 

"  You  Irish  ladies  have  the  waay  wi'  you, 
to  be  shure,  aye,  aye,  for  shure  !  An'  I  a 
rispyectable  marriet  man,  too,  an'  goin'  on 
sixty  !  " 

"  You  sixty  !  Faith  now,  Mr.  Macaulay, 
't  is  blarneying  me  yez  are  !  Oh,  the  roguery 
av  ye  !  an'  me  takin'  ye  all  the  toime  for 
five  an'  thirty,  an'  not  a  day  more,  as  I  hope 
for  Hivin  !  Ah,  shure  't  is  manny  a  pore 
318 


Wives  in  Exile 

heart  ye  've  lid  a  dance  !  You  seafarin'  min 
—  lasteways  the  'andsome  rovers  —  are  no 
better  than  the  herrin' :  on  ye  come,  wid  a 
hullabaloo,  and  off  yez  are  wid  a  frisk  o' 
yer  tails  before  we  poor  lone  wimmin  can 
cry  Jiricho  !  an'  see  the  prophet  fall !  " 

Again,  silence.  Perhaps  the  elderly  and 
"  rispyectable  "  Macaulay  was  pondering  the 
unfamiliarity  to  his  ears  of  Mrs.  Moriarty's 
Scriptural  allusion. 

"  Ah,  Hivins  and  irth  !  Am  I  to  be  for- 
gettin'  ?  Why  there  's  rum  punch  too,  to  be 
had  for  the  brewin'  av  it,  the  blessin'  o'  God 
upon  it  for  a  holy  comfort  to  the  mind  above 
an'  the  belly  below.  An'  there  's  a  cold  ham 
there  is,  an'  the  lovin'  breast  of  a  duck  sittin' 
upon  green  peas  as  though  she  'ad  jist  layed 
thim  ;  though  now  I  'm  thinkin'  av  it,  it 's  a 
young  drake  she  was.  But  that  steak  an' 
kidney  pie  !  —  Shure  it 's  just  wasted  it  '11 
be,  clane  thrown  away.  An'  all  that  good 
whiskey,  too  !  Mr.  Macaulay,  whin  it 's  takin' 
whiskey  ye  are,  hot,  d  'ye  take  limmon  an' 
sugar  wid  it?" 

"  O  really,  ma'am,  since  it 's  so  ferry  kind 
and  pressin'  you  are  for  peing,  an'  as  it 's  a 
3^9 


Wives  in  Exile 

night  that  is  ferry  pad  for  one  hke  me,  I  'm 
thinkin'  that  if  you  will  have  one  of  ta  girls 
aft,  just  to  keep  ta  decks  an'  a  ferry  goot 
look-out,  I  will  pe  joining  you  for  a  look  at 
that  pie,  an'  —  an'  —  ta  whiskey." 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  Honor  whispered 
to  her  companion  that  there  would  not  be 
long  to  wait  now. 

Five  minutes  passed ;  seven  ;  a  weary  ten. 
Almost  upon  the  twelfth,  a  hoarse  whisper 
sounded  above  them,  coming  from  a  dark 
bulk  that  loomed  out  of  the  mist. 

"  Come  up,  darlints  !  It 's  bhlind  drunk 
he  is,  poor  dear,  an'  lyin'  sound  as  a  babby 
after  the  spasms,  an'  on  j'our  bed,  too, 
Capting  Wester,  darlint !  " 

"  Oh,  the  brute  !  " 

**  Whisht !  It 's  as  quiet  as  a  moonbame 
ye  must  be  !  Come  up  this  way  — ah,  ah, 
that 's  it  —  an'  you  !  ah,  the  Sints  have  their 
eyes  on  ye  !  " 

Once  on  deck  the  Captains  lost  no  time 
in  going  below,  accompanied  by  their  inval- 
uable first  officer. 

It  was  true.  Mr.  Macaulay,  a  sandy- 
haired,  sandy-bearded  man  of  about  sixty, 
320 


Wives  in  Exile 

heavily  freckled,  and  with  a  look  of  solemn 
goodness  upon  his  face,  lay  on  Mrs.  Wester's 
bunk,  his  right  hand  still  grasping  the  remains 
of  the  duck  that  was  a  drake. 

"What's  done  it?"  Leonora  whispered, 
bewildered. 

"  It 's  this,  Capting  darlint." 

"  What,  methylated  spirits  !  " 

"  Yis.  The  Holy  Virgin  shoved  the  iday 
into  me  ould  mind.  I  heated  thim  up,  an' 
whin  he  'ad  his  tumbler  wid  the  whiskey  in 
it,  an'  a  double  dose  at  that,  I  jist  filled  it 
up  with  thim  mithylogical  spirits  !  An'  that 
was  not  wanst  only  !  Faith,  he  had  only 
put  the  outside  av  his  appytite  upon  that 
pie,  an'  was  playin'  wid  the  duck,  whin  I  put 
in  the  sugar,  whin  up  he  got,  singin'  '  Holy  ! 
Holy  !  Holy  1 '  an'  fell  down  jist  as  yer  honours 
see  'm  now  before  the  blessed  eyes  av  ye  !  " 

"  Fetch  the  rope,  Mrs.  Moriarty." 

"  Indade  I  will.  Oh,  't  is  the  peace  o' 
God  I'm  havin'!" 

"  And  you,  Nora,  make  a  gag  out  of  this 
handkerchief.  Polly,  you  run  and  fetch 
O'Leary." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  deed  was  done.  Mr. 
21  321 


Wives  in  Exile 

Macaulay  was  handcuffed,  footcuffed,  gagged, 
and  ignominiously  carried  on  deck.  Thence, 
in  turn,  he  was  lowered  into  the  dingey. 

"  Now,  Bridget,  you  go  off,  and  don't  make 
a  splash  as  you  value  your  life.  Fasten  the 
dingey  on  to  the  Sea  Hawk,  and  bring  away 
its  boat  instead." 

While  this  was  being  done,  the  anchor 
chain  was  silently  payed  out  to  the  full,  and 
then  allowed  to  sink  out  of  sight. 

The  heavy  ebb  that  prevails  on  that  side 
of  Loch  Fyne,  and  particularly  off  Tarbert, 
soon  made  the  yacht  drift  from  her  late 
anchorage. 

Silent  as  a  ghost,  and  in  a  few  seconds  as 
invisible  as  ghosts  in  general,  the  Belle  Aurore 
slid  seaward.  The  only  splash  was  when 
Bridget  O'Leary,  having  missed  the  rope 
thrown  to  her  on  her  return,  made  an  at  first 
unsuccessful  effort  to  recover  it. 

Five  minutes  later  the  yacht  was  out  on 
Loch  Fyne.  Slowly  mainsail,  foresail,  and 
jib  crawled  up  into  the  mist. 

The  breeze,  faint  but  steady,  filled  them. 
A  continuous  froth  bubbled  at  the  bow  of  the 
yacht.    Behind,  a  white  wake  slowly  widened. 
322 


EPILOGUE. 


A  week  later  there  was  a  heavy  gale  off  the 
north  coast  of  Ireland. 

Nowhere  was  it  so  bad  as  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  Giant's  Causeway,  where  the 
sea  rose  and  leapt  among  clouds  of  spray. 

A  yacht  was  vainly  striving  to  make  head 
against  a  terrific  drift  of  wind,  tide,  and  cur- 
rent. Her  last  chance  lay  in  her  abiUty  to 
weather  the  gaunt  headland  which  intercepted 
her. 

Half  an  hour  earlier,  the  skipper  of  a 
steamer,  passing  her  at  railway  speed,  had 
taken  a  note  of  the  name,  —  The  Sea  Hawk. 

The  doomed  vessel  seemed  to  be  driving 
straight  upon  a  fatal  shore ;  for  already  the 
headland  was  strewn  with  wreckage,  and  a 
group  of  men  and  women  had  all  the  ap- 
pearance of  unfortunate  castaways. 

In  this  group  the  moving  spirits  were 
Honor  Adair  and  Leonora  Wester.  They 
323 


Wives  in  Exile 

did  not  give  another  tliought  now  to  their 
own  shattered  vessel,  whose  fragments  were 
impaled  on  the  reefs  at  their  feet,  or  swirled 
to  and  fro  in  the  foaming  water.  What  did 
they  care,  now,  —  since  they  and  theirs  were 
safe,  though  hardly  a  vestige  -of  the  Belle 
Aiirore  would  survive  ;  what  did  they  care, 
when  the  Sea  Hazvk,  with  their  loved  ones  on 
board,  seemed  driving  fast  to  a  certain  doom  ! 

If  the  gale  was  bad  when,  two  hours 
earher,  they  had  come  to  grief,  it  was  much 
worse  now.  The  chance  of  those  on  the 
Sea  Hawk  was  a  poor  one. 

Besides  the  disheartened  and  weeping 
crew,  there  were  three  coast-guardsmen  and 
four  fishermen  of  the  neighborhood.  All 
gloomily  watched  the  approaching  vessel. 

"  No,  madam,"  said  one  of  the  coast- 
guardsmen  to  Honor,  shouting  because  of 
the  screeching  of  the  wind,  "  it  ud  be  im- 
possible to  get  a  boat  out.  The  only  chance 
for  the  yacht  is  to  strike  into  those  shallows 
yonder,  an'  then  for  those  on  board  to  sprawl 
ashore  quick  as  lightnin'  before  the  surge  can 
suck  them  back." 

"  We  '11    save    them,    Nora  !     We  '11   save 
324 


Wives  in   Exile 

them  !  "  cried  Honor,  with  passionate  eager- 
ness. '*  I  '11  wave  my  shawl  down  there,  and 
I  think  they  '11  understand  !  And  then,  all 
of  us,  we  must  all  take  hands  and  rush  in  the 
moment  the  yacht  breaks  up,  and  each  of  us 
seize  a  man  !  " 

The  brave  thought  inspired  them,  and  the 
signal  of  the  shawl  proved  to  be  salvation  for 
those  on  board  the  Sea  Hawk. 

On  she  came  with  a  wild  rush. 

They  could  see  Wilfrid  Adair  at  the  wheel, 
his  hair  flying  in  the  wind.  He  had  seen 
Honor's  signal,  and  understood.  The  yacht 
was  apparently  leaping  to  her  doom,  like  a 
deer  flying  from  wolves  and  springing  among 
crouching  tigers.  It  seemed  impossible  that 
she  should  not  be  transfixed  and  mangled 
and  rent  into  a  myriad  pieces  upon  these 
awful  fangs  of  rocks. 

But  an  iron  hand  was  steering,  and  an  un- 
wavering gaze  fixt  upon  the  spot  where,  at 
imminent  peril  of  being  swept  away  and 
drowned.  Honor  waved  her  signal. 

It  all  happened  in  a  few  seconds.  A  swift 
surging  rush  —  a  wild  cry  from  those  on 
shore  —  a  grinding,  splitting  crash  — 

325 


Wives  in   Exile 

The  next  moment  Wilfrid  Adair  and 
Richard  Wester,  with  their  three  companions 
had  sprung  into  the  shallows,  and  were  reel- 
ing and  struggling  against  the  resurge. 

It  would  have  been  impossible  to  evade 
death,  but  for  the  semi-circular  human  cor- 
don. A  cheer  broke  forth  as  one  by  one  a 
castaway  was  rescued :  soon  the  last  had 
been  gript,  and  with  a  sustained  panting 
effort,  all  were  at  last  dragged  ashore. 

If  the  gratitude  of  Honor  and  Leonora 
could  be  enhanced,  it  was  because  each  had 
saved  him  whom  she  loved  better  than  any 
one  else  in  the  world  :  but,  for  a  time,  their 
joy  was  mixt  with  bitter  pain,  for  Richard 
Wester  had  been  struck  on  the  head  by  a 
piece  of  timber,  and  Wilfrid  Adair  had 
swooned,  half-drowned. 

But  at  last,  speech,  happiness,  deep  joy 
came  to  them.  Over  and  over  the  married 
lovers  kissed  and  hugged  each  other,  then 
turned  and  kissed  and  hugged  "  the  opposite 
side,"  as  Mrs.  Moriarty  said. 

All  was  forgotten  in  that  supreme  delight. 

*'  We  owe  our  lives  to  you.  Honor  dar- 
ling," Wilfred  exclaimed  at  last ;  "  and  you 
326 


Wives  in   Exile 

are  the  bravest,  sweetest,  dearest  wife  in  the 
world  !  And  since  no  Uves  are  lost,  I  '11  say 
this,  —  that  I  'd  lose  a  dozen  yachts  if  only 
to  have  had  the  pleasure  of  this  long  chase 
of  you,  and  to  get  you  at  last,  —  by  being 
saved  by  you  !  " 

And  what  a  handshaking  there  was  all 
round,  and  what  happy  laughter  and  tears, 
with  hardly  a  thought  for  the  shattered 
yachts,  whose  last  fragments  were  already  the 
sport  of  the  seas. 

"  And  who  do  you  think  is  coming  hard 
after  us,  Leonora?"  asked  Mr.  Wester  after 
a  bit,  when  in  less  danger  of  suffocation  from 
his  wife's  arms  :  "  coming  hard  after  us  in  a 
big  steam-yacht  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"  Why  your  dear  friends  Colonel  Las- 
celles  and  the  Master  of  Ruthven  !  " 

"  Oh,  the  insolence  of  them  !  Are  we 
never  to  see  the  last  of  these  wretches?" 

"  But  they  saved  your  lives,  my  dear,  — 
just  as  you  have  saved  ours  !  " 

*•'  Oh,  that  is  all  very  well :  but  what  do 
they  mean  by  following  us  like  that?  " 

"Well,  you   know  Lascelles  is  a  famous 

327 


Wives  in  Exile 

yachtsman,  and  he  only  had  the  poor  Sea 
Hawk  while  he  was  waiting  for  his  steam- 
yacht  The  North  Star.  We  parted  com- 
pany this  morning.  He  was  to  beat  up  the 
Londonderry  coast,  and  then  come  after  us. 
He  '11  be  here  before  long,  I  guess,  for  all 
the  gale." 

"  So,  you  wretches,  you  hunted  us  in 
couples  !  " 

"  Forgive  us  !  Never  were  wives  so  hard 
to  catch  !  " 

"  And  so  these  two  accomplices  of  yours 
are  on  the  North  Star  ?  " 

"  Yes :  and  they  have  guests  that  know 
you  also,  you  flirtatious  young  parties  !  Oh, 
yes,  don't  pretend  you  don't  know.  Who 
else  than  Sir  Jasper  Wingrave?" 

"  And  his  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Leonora,  and  his  wife  !  " 

But  why  go  on?  Of  course  the  North 
Star  came  along,  and  safely  entered  the 
adjacent  haven  of  Dunore,  on  the  wind-shel- 
tered east  side  of  Dunore  Head, 

That  night  all  the  shipwrecked  were  to 
stay  at  the  Dunore  Arms.  On  the  morrow, 
328 


Wives  in  Exile 

the  crew  of  the  late  Belle  Aurore,  under  the 
guidance  of  Mrs.  Moriarty,  were  to  go  by 
train  to  Dublin,  there  to  await  the  arrival  of 
The  North  Star. 

And  what  a  happy  company  it  was  that 
sat  down  to  dinner  that  night,  —  both  in  the 
big  kitchen  and  in  the  saloon  !  And  how 
deeply  and  often,  the  health  was  drunk  of 
the  brave  and  beautiful  Captains  of  the 
Belle  Aurore  ! 

Only,  while  Sir  Jasper  Wingrave  looked  at 
his  wife  and  thought  that  Lady  Wingrave 
was  Lady  Wingrave  forever  and  a  day ;  and 
Wilfrid  Adair  looked  at  Honor  and  thought 
her  more  beautiful  than  ever ;  and  Richard 
Wester  looked  at  Leonora,  till  his  heart 
melted,  and  he  swore  to  himself  he  would 
sacrifice  the  hated  "  P  "  of  his  second  bap- 
tismal name,  —  while  ///<n' thought  this,  Colo- 
nel Lascelles  brooded  upon  the  Rape  of  an 
Hibernian  Sabine.  He  had  found  Ideala  L., 
the  perfect  Sea-Cook.  And  her  name  was 
Moriarty. 


329 


W5 


3  1205  02089  8977 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A         001  423  633  5 


